


The Not So Lonesome Knight: Mistake at the Motel

by LibertyKingdom



Category: Knight Rider (1982)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:28:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 21,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23812324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibertyKingdom/pseuds/LibertyKingdom
Summary: Based on this prompt. “Quit hogging the blanket!” from a Michael Knight anon.
Relationships: Bonnie Barstow/Michael Knight
Comments: 122
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spacerat1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacerat1/gifts), [Knight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knight/gifts).



At least Michael wasn’t a stranger. It’s the thought that resoundingly reverberates through the brunette’s cranium as she slips into her pajamas. Had Bonnie anticipated his presence, she might have selected something a touch less scandalous and revealing. As she casts one last glance into the clouded mirror, she reminds herself that there was nothing overtly obscene about what they were about to do. Lots of people share beds after motel mix-ups. Right?

Michael Knight’s overnight bag is thrust into a heap in the smallest corner of the room. His leather jacket is shrugged off and he uses the brief privacy to slip on more comfortable pants to sleep in. He can’t exactly rely on his usual routine which, entailed sleeping in his boxers and a t-shirt. He was sharing a bed with Bonnie. His seemingly unobtainable person of affection. Perhaps, that is what made her all the more attractive in his eyes. He briefly contemplates making a joke of this situation and yet, a wiser part of him discerns that it could potentially attract her ire. So he doesn’t. He allows the humorous remark to die upon the breadth of his tongue. Especially, when she bashfully emerges from the bathroom. Had she ever looked more gorgeous? He doesn’t think so. It’s hard to pry his eyes off of her. 

Barstow hesitantly slides over to the bed. She is all too aware of his stunning azure hues lingering upon her every curve. A shade of bing-cherry warms the upper-crests of her cheekbones as she averts her own gaze. Of course, curiosity had compelled her to steal a glance at Michael and what she had seen wasn’t entirely revealing or displeasing. He had been respectful of her wishes which, made this awkward predicament all the more tolerable. She delves herself beneath the covers.

A giddy nervousness swells up inside of her as Michael’s sturdier form sinks down beside her’s. 

“Night, Bons.” Michael all too casually murmurs as his head hit the pillow. He’s tired but his soul feels wide awake. His hands yearn to take hold of her. However, out of respect for her, they dare not act on the basest instinct. 

There is a horrible thunder that overtakes her rib-cage at the sleepy utterance of his tongue. It was the most pleasant sound even if she couldn’t allow herself to openly confide to such a thing. “Good night.” As questionable as the room’s cleanliness was, Barstow buries her face into the pillowcase in the hopes that he would not see her blush.

He snuggles in close, far closer than he ought. ‘We’re just co-workers’, Barstow readily reminds herself, as Michael’s heated breath plays across the exposed curve of her neck. The warmth of his proximity on the much too small bed causes her own breath to jar. It is highly improper to allow her mind to venture down the path it was so willfully explored. Any relationship with Knight was expressly forbidden and somehow that didn’t make it any less desirable. Besides, Michael was a ladies man. He loved them and he left them in puddles of their own tears. She did not want to find herself among that unlucky number in his broken hearts club. She owed herself far better than a one night stand!

Space! Bonnie realized she needed more of it! Michael’s 6′4 frame claimed most of the bed’s territory. The mechanic’s mind screamed out the hopeless potential of things she imagined and it scares her.

Michael had attempted to curl his figure around the furthest edges avoiding the overcrowding of her more petite frame. He’s scared of pushing her away and even more petrified to pull her nearer to him. He can’t cross this line. Not with her. He’d never forgive himself. 

Shifting, Bonnie’s fingers lay claim to the blanket and coil it tighter around her shivering frame. She prays it doesn’t disrupt his semi-peaceful slumber. However, her attempt is unsuccessful. The very moment she gets herself settled and semi-comfortable there is a harsh tug on the material covering and a sharply issued warning escapes his lips. “Quit hoggin’ the blanket!” 

Sea-glass orbs flash wide open at his audacity. “Me?! Hogging?!” She hisses with a tack like pointed-edge. “Michael, you hardly left me with any blanket to start with!” She turns her gaze to peer at him through a web of messy dark strands. It didn’t help that the stiff fabric was barely big enough to fit the bed, much less provide comfort for one person, let alone two!

Exasperation beckons from the hollows of Knight’s lungs and he snips back. “Well, yeah. You do have more than half the blanket on your side.” His bleary azure orbs narrow, peering right back into her’s. His large hand gesticulates to the piece of the bed in question. He briefly contemplates the wisdom of getting Kitt to back him up on this but Michael knows it could be a losing war. Especially, since Kitt has always liked Bonnie better.

“My side?! You’ve got to be kidding me?!” Bonnie retorts, feeling the urge to slug him in the nearest arm. Still, she manages to resist inflicting physical harm on him. “You are aware that I have no side of the bed given you take up most of it!” Shame colors the expanse of her cheekbones, though she knows she speaks the truth.

“Well. Excuse me.” He intentionally elongates the words while his hands raised in a placating fashion. “I wasn’t aware I was such an imposition.” Knight smartly answers. His pride was clearly wounded. It is obvious in the very inflection of his words. He readies himself to take leave of her, pushing one foot off the bed and then preparing the second one to do the same.

She can feel him abandoning her. Her heart drops into the souls of her own feet with the shifting of the mattress. “No. Michael.” Bonnie protests before she can discern the impropriety of the offer. “Please stay.” The imploring phrase departs her tongue as more of an order than a humbly gifted suggestion. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be argumentative. It’s just I’m freezing, miserable, and I can’t sleep.” Insomnia was definitely the least of her worries tonight. It was more she couldn’t sleep because she had realized deep down that she truly did love him. Not even her doctorates in computer sciences and technology could protect her now.

Sympathy softens the features on Michael’s face as he gazes down upon Bonnie’s smaller form. She sure is beautiful even when she is, how would Devon say it, miffed? The obnoxious little British voice in his head reminds him of the term he sought. How hadn’t he noticed her discomfiture? What kind of gentlemen was he being? “Forgive me, Bons.” He adoringly murmurs, slinking carefully back down on to the mattress beside her. The springs give off a willful groan as his full weight returns.

“Forgive you?” The mechanic swallows thickly, the uncertainty reverberating through every syllable of the half posed inquiry. She was the one who ought to ask for forgiveness given she had been a touch selfish. It takes her several minutes to understand for what offense he is beseeching absolution for. “I..” She starts, the rest of her words choking off as Michael’s large hands take hold of her middle and reel her and the blanket into his frame. She gasps, her heart takes on its own rendition of turbo-boost. This was crossing the line?! Wasn’t it? Panic coils through her every vein and yet, she can not bring herself to push him away.

A strange, smug satisfaction curls across Michael’s face as his annoying but none-the-less favorite woman finds solace in the fortitude of his limbs. He can feel his erratic heartbeat echoing the arousal he finds.”Is that better?” Knight ponders in something of a delicate sotto-voce tone.

The brunette can feel his sturdy chest pressed flush against her back. His skin radiates the pleasant snugness of furnace in the wintertime. “Much.” Comes her nervous utterance in reply. Heavy lids flicker contentedly closed. The horrible quavering of her features gradually wears off as she remains enveloped by him. “Thanks, Michael.” Her fingers curl into the case of her pillow to avoid clinging to him, the way she wished to.

There is no stinging note of sarcasm in her hushed gratitude and it draws a groggy smile upon the Flag agent’s lips. “Don’t mention it.” He almost utters aloud how much he loves her but the words never bridge the edge of his mouth. He inhales the floral scent of her perfume and the faintest hint of petrol that lingers on her porcelain skin. His nose finds a home against the slope of her neck. Michael internally discovers himself relishing this moment, knowing full well that she may push him away and deny that this ever happened with the dawning of a new day. 

And so it is, with the sounds of each other’s frantic heartbeats echoing within their eardrums, they enter into a surprising place of rest. The propriety of the situation is left for later discussion.


	2. Dreamin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explores Michael and Bonnie's thoughts before and during their sleep.
> 
> ((I was going to separate each Michael and Bonnie each into a chapter but thought it unnecessary given how short they both were.))

Michael Knight is so rarely afraid of anything since his tours in Vietnam as a Green Beret and his time on the cold hard streets of Los Angeles. Tonight, however, he finds himself petrified by this new sense of vulnerability. He knows that he has been damaged by the losses he’s experienced in the past. The worst of them being Stevie’s senseless assassination so soon after their marriage vows. Sure, he did his best to cover the pain with his natural charm, sarcasm, and wit. It got him everywhere and everything he has wanted except when it came to her, the petite brunette slumbering peacefully within his arms. Of all the women he willed his act to work on, Bonnie was the most immune to flattery. Even still, he has held her in high esteem. They hadn’t always seen eye to eye. He knows Barstow’s lowly opinion of him had been fashioned from a jaded standpoint. Some man in her assorted and secretive past had inflicted serious injuries and had planted the seeds of mistrust in corners of her heart that even his trained eye couldn’t spot. For that, he found himself pitying her. He wanted to be the heroic gentleman who would make it right! Yet, every time he tried to work up the courage, he recollected the way it felt to lose her to the University in San Francisco. Her absence had been a form of torment that burned gradual and hot, searing everything in its path. He reminds himself to tread with caution. He can’t risk it, he won’t risk having his heart ripped from his chest again. If it means, keeping these intense feelings for Bonnie prisoner, allowing them to exist only in the shadowy confines of his mind, so be it!

For a mechanic with calloused hands, Bonnie’s form is extremely soft. Her frame fits so expertly against his it almost feels like they belonged together. As much as it internally grieves him, he believes she’ll never be his. He’d never be good enough, smart enough, or rich enough to give her all the things her heart yearned after. With this trail of dour thoughts, his mind grows strangely still. It is at rest, with the kind of quietude he’d almost long forgotten, pre-dating the war and even his academy days. His heavy eye-lids lower and slumber steals in. In his rest, he could imagine whatever he’d like without facing stern admonishment.

________________

Bonnie’s dreams are always preoccupied. They are destined to fixate on complicated formulas and equations. Sometimes the best inventions and improvements came to her in the night. Some would appear in the forms of visions, others as a simple word, or mathematical list. After all, her work was never truly finished.

Tonight, however, they were focused on Michael Knight. She pictures him with finite precision, the same dedication she gives to every inch of Kitt’s systems and frame. Even in her sleep, Bonnie can perfectly recollect the way his unruly coffee-shaded locks curl around his angelic face. She can almost piece together all of the galaxies etched within his azure hues and the way those very same eyes express every emotion from anger to joviality. A part of her can detect the most minuscule twitches of his lips, deciphering truth from fiction. How was it that he could be so irritating and attractive at the same time? Perhaps, she had gifted too much time to the examination of Knight’s physicality for someone he’d always consider just a friend. While she may never be able to have him in the realms of waking, in her dreams she could dare conjure up any number of hopeful possibilities.


	3. The Startling Discovery: The Aftermath in Next Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Morning that follows

Drifting in the realms of slumber, the brunette turns slowly on to her other side. This move, unbeknownst to Bonnie, brings her face to his chest. Fingers that had been locked in the sheets now discover the thin cotton of her co-worker’s shirt tucked within their grips. The beating of his heart against her knuckles provides a sense of comfort she never really knew she needed. It had been ages since anyone had shared a night in such intimate proximity with her. In fact, it had been so long she couldn’t even bring to mind his name. Oh, how she had missed this sensation of life beside her! 

The usherings of breath to and from her lungs carries with it the alluring scent of his woodsy cologne and after-shave. The smell of it makes her feel secure, safe in a way that felt foreign. Wanting to drink more of it in, she squirms till her lips gingerly brush against the smoothness of his skin.

Michael’s masculine bows and curves drift upwards into a smile, in spite of himself, at the tender sensation. He shifts his own figure to be more accommodating. His own head tips downwards till his forehead meets resistance, having unwittingly pressed against her’s. His strong fingers delicately weave through her silky brunette locks. Although he is sleeping, Michael is not so careless as to tug. He revels in the heat of her exhaled breaths and the feeling of delicate hands anchored in his shirt. He lets shallow thrum of his heart communicate with her’s in a way that extensive vocabulary couldn’t.

Their repose is intruded upon with the beeping of Michael’s ever-present com-link. Stirring slightly, he allows himself to stretch. Unwilling to completely surrender his dreams, he doesn’t bother to crack open his eyes. “Good mornin’, sweetheart.” He sighs with a cloudy vignette of dreaminess edging his murmured words. Forgetting that it’s Bonnie he is sleeping beside, the curly-haired agent’s lips travel lower until they meet the cushiony graces of her’s. 

Bonnie, still half asleep, finds herself delightfully cocooned between the muscular body and the bed. “Morning.” She lazily gushes, the faintest hint of a smile decorating her lips just seconds before they are greeted by a mellow and cozy pressure. The blissfully unexpected kiss sends goosebumps sprawling across her skin.

“Michael? I don’t mean to interrupt, however, you and Bonnie are going to be late. You’ve already overslept the alarm and the call from the front desk.” That Bostonian voice beckons again rousing both agents into a state of greater awareness.

“Yeah, yeah. You worry too much.” He grumbles, letting the stern reproach sink in before he clambers out of bed. “I’ll be down in a few minutes after I get dressed and fetch Bons.” As he finishes that last statement, his bleary eyes rove around the room until they fixate on her! The mechanic he had promised to fetch was no further than a few inches away. His eyes round with astonishment and he’s struck positively speechless. They just slept together and he had just... they had just... kissed. Now, he wasn’t going to apologize. He had enjoyed it so much, he was considering doing it again. The widest of grins is cast in her direction. “Well, hello there.” He would have tacked on the word ‘beautiful’ had Bonnie not interrupted. 

“Was... was that Kitt?” Startled, Bonnie jolts upright. Her hands briefly drift across her long dark lashes. Upon noticing that Michael standing there gawking at her, her cheeks stain a dangerous shade of burgundy. “Michael? I... we....” She can’t stop the severe jack-hammering of her heart inside her chest. It’s so loud, she swears it could be heard all the way down at the equator. A shaky hand is wracked through her disheveled hair. What was she supposed to say?! Frustration compels her to tug the blanket, the one they had been struggling over last night, around her curvy figure. They spent the night tangled in each other’s embraces and shared a few kisses. Heavens knows that they might have gone further had it not been for the timely wake-up call. Then what would they have done?!

“Yeah.” He affirms. “That was Kitt. T...turns out, we’re late. Devon’s expecting us at that restaurant this morning.” He stammers. His palm of one hand coming to rest upon the curve of his neck. Looking at the clock he amends, “this afternoon.” He is quick about grabbing his leather jacket and the overnight bag he had so eagerly departed with hours ago.

Bonnie races to the bathroom to change and comb the tangles out of her hair. Once safely concealed behind the door she shakily remarks, “we... we can’t ever speak of this, Michael.” No matter how wonderful the experience had been, Bonnie doesn’t want it to ruin their fantastic friendship. Speaking it aloud could jinx it. But was it too late? Had the damage already been done?! The kiss had cemented the fact that she had fallen hopelessly, endlessly, and completely in love with him.

“Fine by me.” Michael retorts with a casual shrug of the shoulders. “You don’t wanna talk about it, we won’t talk about it.” He was going to respect her wishes. Admittedly, he was hurt by her insistence on secrecy. His own hand brushes through his curls. Deep down it wasn’t fine. It didn’t come remotely close to being fine. He wanted everyone to know about this new love of his! He craved to tell her, to pursue the open door that this amazing night had presented them with. 

After waiting about half an hour he wraps his knuckles on the door. “Come on, Bons. I’m sure you’re as pretty as a picture. We gotta go.”

“Alright. I’m ready.” Barstow puffs, pulling open the door and emerging in a simple skirt and blouse. “Let’s go.” She heads for the door and then the sleek black Trans-Am in the parking-lot without so much as peering up at him.

Michael jangles the keys uneasily, his pace striving to match her hurried one across the asphalt.


	4. The Neby Third Party.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follow Michael and Bonnie try to settle into the groove of the day with Kitt asking way too many questions.

Michael and Bonnie had settled into their respective seats with him behind the steering yoke and her reclining in the passenger’s seat. Each one wearing a pensive expression and neither daring to look in the other’s direction.

The silence is unbearable! A dense and heady aura of stiffness permeates throughout the entire cabin until it is nearly absorbed by the upholstery itself. Its mere presence feels nearly suffocating to the somewhat confused third-party. It is certainly a stark contrast from the previous nights more festive air.

“Michael?” A pause. “Bonnie?” Kitt dares to breaks the absence of sound.

“Yes, Kitt?” They both seem to respond at the same time. It is then, and only then, they hazard the briefest of glances in each other’s direction before turning their eyes to the center console.

“Are you both alright?” The question is just a precursor to the more important ones to follow.

“We’re fine.” Michael grimly answers. His azure hues casually sweep over to examine Bonnie. Even in the sharp flashes of the afternoon sunshine pouring through the windows she was a positively radiant sight. If only he had spoken life to his feelings sooner, maybe, they wouldn’t be here in this tense situation.

The brunette apprehensively lets her tongue traverse the terrain of her lower-lip before affirming his reply. “Yes. Kitt. We’re...” She didn’t want to lamely use the same word Knight did but she couldn’t think of another fitting term. “Fine.” She settles.

The first inquiry was based on Kitt’s intuition, this second one was borne of Kitt’s observations. “Your heartbeats are both extremely rapid. Is something wrong?” He knows from research and his programming that frantic heart-rates were indicative of the flight or fight response caused by alcohol, drugs, panic, tachycardia, stress, and caffeine overdoses. His processors take to computing the likelihood of each. Confidently, he rules out the tachycardia because it is unlikely to hit two people at the very same moment. However, that left panic, alcohol, drugs, stress, or caffeine overdoses. With a little further digging, he determines that alcohol, drugs, and caffeine were not to blame. So what was it? He doesn’t quite give the two human Flag agents a chance to answer before he tacks on, “does this finding have something to do with the fact that you slept together?” 

Michael’s jaw falls open at the blunt way in which, Kitt phrased the question. His anxious finger-tips rhythmically tap the steering yoke as he contemplates an answer that would not offend either of his co-workers. His eyes peer out the driver’s side window wishing an answer would just up and present itself, written on some passing tree or surface but there isn’t one ripe for selecting. So he chews the inside of his lip in careful consideration.

Her pale-rose shaded lips fall aghast and she slumps down further into her seat. Internally, Bonnie thinks to herself, she ought to have known better than to make Kitt so clever! Maybe, she should invent something that would keep him from nosing into her personal business. But what? Arms fold protectively over her chest, her fingers digging into her elbows. “Uhmm, I...” she breathily releases. She didn’t want to talk about this with Michael, what made Kitt think she’d want to discuss it with him? Her gaze pries off the console and slips towards Michael in an effort to discern what answer they should collectively give. However, he seems equally as flustered and as lost. Her mind reels to life seeking out ways to get out of this conversation. 

Michael was just about to inform Kitt that what happened in that motel room was ‘none of his business’ when Bonnie speaks up. And boy, he thinks, not a moment too soon as the sweat begins to gather upon his brow. 

“Kitt?” She starts, this time sounding more like her natural and more patient self. “Why don’t you show us the files we’re supposed to review for our meeting with Devon?” Besides, it was best for the three of them to not show up unprepared. 

Kitt begrudgingly obliges. Whilst their answers were not forthcoming nor were they forthright, their respective silences spoke volumes. If there was going to be a divorce or break-up between them, he wanted custody of himself first and visitations with both second. But he’d clarify his stance when things didn’t feel so heated between them. He allows his vibrant red scanner swooshed side to side, the tv monitor comes alive with a brief static flash. The pixelated image rapidly growing clearer by the second. 

Missing person cases weren’t all that unusual though they did seem like a matter best suited for uniformed officers of the law rather than territory for the Foundation. However, there were special circumstances surrounding this one as it involved a former Foundation employee and their family. Heavens only knows what knowledge was being requested by the shady third parties and what the said information was going to be used for. No doubt any information garnered from even a former agent would be utilized to carry out nefarious purposes. The files they had been gifted gave little except a hazy timeline of events and a little background on a seemingly squeaky clean employee.


	5. Background Checks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kitt, Michael, and Bonnie review what they know

On paper, Kent Stevens seemed to be a typical fifty-year-old man. From glances at his pristine resume, there was nothing to indicate any proclivity towards or propensity for criminal behaviors. Not that any of the Foundation employees, including Kitt, should be surprised. The background checks run by the Foundation were extensive. Some would say more extensive than the FBI’s. Which begged the question, why was he targeted?

Bonnie only vaguely remembered the man now that she had a picture for reference. He had these eyes that resembled frosted over grass, though they still maintained a youthful affection and buoyancy. He was witty but not in the same capacity as she was and it wasn’t exactly a duplicate of Devon or Michael’s intellect either. He was different. There had been craters forming in the corners of his lips possibly from the number of times he pursed and unpursed them over the years. For a man of his towering and muscular stature, he was quiet. He gave the appearance of one who was always thinking, plotting, and calculating. He had helped her in the garage once or twice when something was a little too heavy for even her to life. A part of Bonnie felt remorseful, resenting that she hadn’t taken the time to get to know him better before he left the Foundation. But it couldn’t have been helped as she had just been getting oriented in her own position and as a result, had been under far more stress than usual.

Michael’s studious gaze drank in the unfamiliar features of the burly subject. His well-trained mind ventured down paths that would be impossible to follow for anyone who hadn’t gained experience as a detective. There were subtle things his fellow agents didn’t know to look for or how to read. It wasn’t their fault. While gathering clues from the photographs was not ideal in any investigation, it was the only evidence he currently had to work with. At least, until he could sit down and have a face to face interview. “Kitt?” He breaks the silence that had fallen between them.

“Yes, Michael?” Kitt returns. The eagerness to be of help reverberates through his words.

“Can you get a close up on his lapel on his left-hand side?” He inquires without the addition of the word, please. Michael had honed in on something small and shiny. He hoped it was a pin. No, he hoped it was more than that, he hoped it was a pin with a telling insignia of some organization or other. It was something so small that it would have likely escaped even Bonnie’s keen observations.

His request is granted in short order. Unfortunately, the distance from the cameraman to Kent had blurred the insignia beyond recognition. “I’m sorry, Michael. It doesn’t look like you’re going to get anything from the horrendous resolution of the picture when it was enlarged.” Kitt honestly laments. Not even his most advanced microchips could do anything to remedy the blur that existed. 

Heaving out a sigh, Michael remarks, “ahhh. That’s okay, pal. Do me a favor, don’t beat yourself up over it. It wasn’t really anything solid to go on anyway. I was just curious.” There is a strange but satisfying understanding that passes between the two partners, human and vehicle.

“Maybe our talk with Devon will give us an idea into his personal life,” Bonnie vocalized the thought that the others had been harboring and hadn’t yet given voice to. Devon had been a part of the Foundation for Law and Government since it’s conception. He took a personal interest in getting to know all of his employees from the downright exasperating individuals to the lovelier souls that never caused a day of trouble in their lives. He championed Wilton’s cause with remarkable ease and fineness and he had taken Bonnie and Michael under the span of his wings. A task, no doubt, he both relished and found infuriating depending upon the hour and the day.

The rest of the ride was spent in silence. Everyone’s thoughts spider-webbing potential connections and worse still, the ugly possibilities that vital information regarding their own operations and whereabouts might have been leaked as well as any number of other agents. The danger is very real with a threat as credible as this one.


	6. Lunch Time Conversations: Enter Devon Miles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Devon Miles

Where in the Devil were his employees? He can’t help but wonder. They were certainly long overdue!

When they finally arrive at the restaurant, the Foundation’s salt and pepper haired Patriarch is waiting and had apparently been doing so, for a good allotment of time. Devon Miles cast a vexed glance down at this wristwatch. His marvelous topaz eyes radiate impatience which, was tempered by a more merciful nature. His lips are pulled tight into a frown though the relief is evident upon his countenance upon catching sight of the distinctive hard-top taxiing to a stop. 

“Kitt, you know the drill.” Michael cheerfully states, shifting the gears into park. They’d been through this routine more than a hundred times by now. Plus, he had every confidence that Kitt would go into surveillance mode as they discussed the case. While, it felt like overkill, Michael really didn’t want to lower his guard. Especially, if someone was preparing to strike out at the Foundation. His detective instincts told him a surprise attack was a very real possibility. 

He exits the cabin and skids his way over Kitt’s hood so that he can promptly open the door for Bonnie. Sure, the day hadn’t been off to the best of starts. Though, he really did enjoy the kisses. Gazing at her now, with that same embarrassed flush upon her face, made him all the more certain that he wanted to be with her or alone the rest of his life. But he can’t imagine upsetting her. He had already come dangerously close to provoking her while they were getting dressed. So it is with earnest, that he feels compelled to show her how he felt without the assistance of fancy words.

Flattery and chivalry weren’t things Bonnie was fully accustomed to. So her hand instinctively had flown to the door handle but before she can grasp it, the door is swung wide open before her. She stares long at hard for a second at his proffered hand before allowing her own fingers to graciously curl around it. The grasp parts when she rises to stand upon her own two feet. “Thanks.” The gracious word is imparted, just a hint louder than a whisper. The brunette can feel the tropical scorch rising back into the curves of her cheekbones. Internally, her heart gives a petitioning thud. Tell him, tell him. Her mind chants to no avail. Her tongue was unready and unwilling to gift any such nonsense a voice. 

As they walk, she can feel the reassuring pressure of his palm residing over the small of her back. He’d always done that for as long as she could remember. For some reason, today, it felt different. Dare she consider it a loving gesture? No. It had to be a silly trick of her sentimental imagination! Besides, when Michael had learned that she was the one he had been kissing, his azure orbs had almost vacantly searched her. She had interpreted that as Michael showing a polite indifference. Who was she trying to kid by fancying that last night would have any significant impact? Michael was notoriously allergic to attachments. He moved from one girl to the next in pursuit of the next hot fling. Bonnie didn’t want that. She didn’t want meaningless relations. Even more so, she didn’t desire a lowly unimportant place in his life. Still, with his hand pressed against her, the mechanic allows herself to cling to a tiny shred of hope that she may still earn something more than his passing affections.

“My heavens,” the elder gentleman starts, the very minute Bonnie and Michael were seated. The richness of his purely English accent slipping into every syllable. “I was beginning to think you two weren’t going to show.” His gracefully veiled reproach was well deserved given they were definitely more than one hour late. Fidgeting, he readjusts the cuffs of his tailored suit jacket before picking up the menu to give it another once over. “What in the Devil kept you? I trust you have a good explanation.” 

He is met with bashful glances and two definitive apologies. Michael is the first to clear his throat. “It’s my fault, Devon. There was a mix-up at the hotel.”

“Oh?” Devon questions. His graying brow quirking just enough to show that his curiosity had been piqued. 

“Well you see,” Michael commences, ready to launch into the whole spiel when Bonnie interjects.

Bonnie, never really one to slouch, allowed herself to sink lower in the comfort of the booth. “It’s a long and uninteresting story, Devon. Let’s just say the front desk made the phone call to the wrong room.” The excuse sounded plausible enough. Didn’t it? She cast a worried glance at the two from over her own menu.

Michael looked as if he had been physically struck. His tongue was ready to dispute part of her explanation when he thought the better of it. Maybe, just maybe, she was right. Undeserved shame compels his head to droop. His mind considers the potential that he wasn’t the great company he thought he was. Try as he might to focus on the menu, he couldn’t. Her words kept rolling like a bowling ball down an endless lane, over and over in his mind. What had she meant by her statement? Why did it feel like she had been speaking in some kind of code? Or was he simply too unintelligent to decipher any message she was trying to get across? Why was it so hard to communicate with her?! 

Bonnie snagged a glimpse of Michael. Her heart sinks inside of her chest as his expression bordered on the precipice of offended and angry. Had it been something she said? Worry grips tightly around the slowly thrumming muscle. Each of its beats dredged up fear that he loathed her. How could she backtrack now? Swallowing sharply, she feels her appetite fleeting. 

Devon, who to this point is still blissfully unaware, cheerfully prompts, “so what will you to be having?” He suspects that his lovely mechanic would resort to ordering something health-conscious and wise while, his haphazard agent would opt for something bathed in grease. His topaz orbs linger with considerable interest upon them.

Bonnie and Michael both had the misfortune of locking each other in the cross-hairs of their gazes when they went to answer. Immediately, they both allow their eyes to falter downwards. 

“Well? We don’t exactly have all day.” Devon prods. He was beginning to suspect that something is amiss. They had been getting along so splendidly the other day and now they could barely stand to look at each other. 

“Go ahead, Michael.” Bonnie coolly states, in an effort to take some of the pressure off of herself. 

Under his breath, he bitterly grumbles, “why don’t you just tell me what I’m allowed to have and what I’m not.” He thinks that it is said in a soft enough tone that it wouldn’t be audible over the other lively conversations around them but it’s not. She always criticized his choices. Particularly, when they came to food and women. 

Bonnie’s menu flops down onto the table with a click. “What is that supposed to mean?!” It was her turn to have confusion and offense tattooed to her countenance. Honestly. She can’t even believe he said that! 

Small sparks of repentance flicker through his gaze but are quickly snuffed out to something colder than ash. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Well, its just that you...” The unfinished accusation sits like bricks in his tone. Catching a peripheral view of Devon, whose face clearly bespoke disapproval, he recants. “It’s nothing.” Like an admonished child he ducks behind the cover of his menu and he dwells there for several minutes in silence. “Guess, the double cheeseburger looks good.” 

“Nothing?” Bonnie prods, not fully willing to let it go. “Michael, if it was nothing you wouldn’t have mentioned it. And now, I want to know.” Want definitely was not a strong enough term.

The curly-haired agent’s menu is dropped beside her discarded one and he leans across the table. His hands fold together like a shuffled deck of cards. “Well, you apparently know what’s best for me. What was it you said a while back, you anticipate my every need?” Every yearning but one. The most important one. The one that revolved around her. “And everythin’ I tend to order is considered junk or trash.” He doesn’t even remember where the hell he was going with his statements so he abruptly ceases. In the undercurrent of his discourse lay a deeper meaning. One he had tried to impart to her that morning. But it lodges stubbornly and quite painfully somewhere inside of him. It changes form and escapes as an unintentionally harsh rebuke that he immediately wishes he could erase.

Her words had been taken so far out of context it was hard to piece them back together. Where was all this coming from? She is so taken aback by his commentary all she can do is glower. In a low grievous tone, she quips, “it’s none of my business if you want to poison yourself.” 

In that instant, Devon’s suspicions were confirmed. Something had gone on between them since they had parted ways. Whatever it was, it didn’t appear to be good. Astonished by the cruelty of their banter and wishing to save face for both of them Devon interrupts. “Yes. Well, to each their own. I’m sure you’ll both make the appropriate selections.” He only gives a pause long enough for their orders to be placed with the waitress before directing their attention back to the case. “About Kent Stevens...”


	7. Lunch Time Conversations: Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> About Kent Stevens

The ravenous gnawing sensation threatening to overtake Devon Miles’s nerves amplifies with every moment that he regards their precarious situation. He can not actively discern what troubles him more the abduction, the concealed enemy behind it, or the sense of foreboding he has concerning the matter. Whilst he is carrying an incredible burden on the breadth of his capable shoulders, Devon remained the exemplification of poise and decorum that he knows his team requires. He could thank his training and experience in the RAF and Secret Intelligence Service for the refinement of his character.

Unleashing a haggard sigh, the Patriarch addressed his most trusted staff members. “As I’m sure you’ve read, Kent Stevens was a model employee. He made a habit of being prompt.” With that last word, Devon is half tempted to eye Michael sharply. It took a great deal of effort to restrain himself from doing so. “Kent was also courteous and extremely helpful. He was known for lending his hand to other departments when they were in need of assistance. He was often deployed in our negotiations with foreign diplomats.” Miles allows his words to fall into a brief silence as he recounts some of the more sticky situations Kent helped the Foundation and Wilton Knight out of in the early days of the organization.

Carrying on he breathes, “so naturally, you could imagine my shock when I received the telephone call from his wife.” He delays once more, sorting through a tangle of his thoughts. With a shake of his head, he dismissed the frantic chord of Grace’s voice in her entreaty for the Foundation’s help. “You see, the ol’ chap is the son of someone I fought alongside of during the war. I made it out, his father wasn’t so fortunate. Wilton Knight and I grew to trust his son explicitly as if, he were one of our own. He had one of the highest levels of clearances at the Foundation.”

With that statement, Bonnie and Michael grew to understand why Devon had insisted the matter was urgent enough to abruptly drop the counterfeiting case they had been working. Fortunately, Stevens’s house was only about a three-hour drive from their present location and not halfway across the country. So, there wouldn’t be any need for emergency flights or other hotel reservations. Though, Bonnie had almost hoped for a switch in motels.

Michael’s tongue traverses across the edges of his teeth as he leans conspiratorially closer to both Bonnie and Devon. “So, what you’re saying is, this guy had access to a lot of things. Right?”

Devon nods in affirmation. He clarifies, “Yes. Stevens had been granted access to information. He knew high-security passwords, the names of agents, about blueprints for future and current projects. He knows the locations of our warehouses, safe-houses, mansions, and garages. Worse still, Kent had access to and extensive knowledge of our computer systems. I don’t have to tell you what could happen if any of it gets into the hands of the wrong individuals. Do I?” 

Bonnie inhales sharply. There is one part of what Devon says that she particularly hates. ‘He has extensive knowledge of their computer systems.’ While the systems have been updated several times since his departure, there remained a question as to what all he had seen and how much of the coding he recalled. Even if he didn’t have total recollection, he could still make a huge mess of things. “I take it that we’re going to have to assume everything is compromised and operate under the radar without the support of our usual resources?”

“I’m afraid so, Bonnie. It can’t be helped. At least, not until this conflict reaches a desirable resolution.” Devon glumly commiserates.

Michael stiffens. He knows exactly what Bonnie is hinting at. He can understand her distress in full. The loss of the usual resources would be a significant hindrance to their investigation. He knows that they had outsourced and successfully solved at least one case before. Sure. It had been a hard-won victory but they could do it again. Michael had an alarming amount of faith in their abilities. “You said his wife called?” He waits for Devon’s expected nod ‘yes’ before continuing, “was she able to shed any light on the circumstances surrounding his disappearance? Were there any ransom demands?”

"I'm afraid not and there haven't been any ransom demands as of this hour." He grimly answers. Having a ransom demand would have given them an idea of who was behind this. For now, they were still operating blind.

Michael’s expression turned stony, hard with concentration. His dark brows furrow together at Devon’s remark about the absence of a ransom notice. That could be bad news. If he had been abducted which, remains in doubt, then his captors would want some form of compensation. Unless of course, they intended to kill him once they got what they wanted. That was a very ugly possibility. But the more terrifying option could be that Kent Stevens defected and disappeared so that he can inflict maximum damage on the Foundation for some perceived or real grievance. “Did you ever have any trouble with him going AWOL before?”

The older gentleman shakes his head ‘no’ without flinching. Devon noting Michael’s reaction explains, “that’s why I had you both meet me here. I’d like you to conduct a joint interview with his wife to see if you can glean more from her than I did.” 

While Miles was aware that Dr. Barstow was far more comfortable with the behind the scenes aspects of the Foundation’s affairs, he also recognized her as an invaluable asset. If he were being honest, she happened to be his favorite proxy. Devon knows he shouldn’t display partiality but it was quite difficult given her extensive skill set and her social graces. She was more articulate and had a better tolerance for high society functions than Michael did. Plus, he could trust her not to do infantile things such as playing hooky or utilize expensive technology for leisurely pursuits. That wasn’t to say, he didn’t feel a considerable fondness for Michael. Michael was his beloved adopted son. However, Bonnie’s presence was sometimes better received than that of the former cop’s. This situation may prove to be no exception. “Bonnie?” His attention focuses solely upon her. 

“Yes, Devon?” The brunette questions, an air of puzzlement flittering in her tone. She couldn’t entirely predict what he was going to ask of her. Still, the brunette was more than ready to comply with almost every order he’d give. 

“I hate to impose,” he starts in complete sincerity, “but could you do me a favour and spend a few hours with her until the security detail arrives? I’d do it myself, but I have to secure as many of the assets as possible. I’d like Michael and Kitt to go out investigating any leads you might gain from the interview the very first moment that they can.” 

She smiles. “It is no imposition at all. I can do that.” Bonnie tried to camouflage the relief in her tone. Being assigned this task meant that she wouldn’t have to be trapped with Kitt and Michael all day. She could use the distraction. It would give her room to think, time to feel, and space to plan; not only in terms of what happened with Michael but their current situation. She is sure that from Stevens’s household she could start to backup and move some of the Foundation’s more vulnerable data to a more secure network. 

The rest of the lunchtime meal went without incident. A little lively chatter was passed back and forth until they had all finished their meals.

As Bonnie and Michael stand to leave, Devon says, “do try to get along. We are the only hope the Foundation has to survive.”

The two younger agents exchange looks. If only their boss knew just how well they were getting along last night, he might not have issued such a warning. But neither one dared say anything.


	8. The Drive to Stevens's House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The drive and arrival at the Stevens house and alarming findings.

The three-hour ride is passed with only the mellow tunes exuding from Kitt’s speakers. The selections were predetermined given the drastic differences in musical taste between Michael and Bonnie. 

The aura of tension, ever-existent, looms like a thick immovable fog. Their destination seemed so far away, much farther than a simple drive. The distance is fully reminiscent of the oceanic expanse that settled between the two human agents since their little quibble at lunch. The space felt nearly insurmountable to overcome with futile gestures and neither one dared to speak for fear of accidentally affronting the other.

Parking in front of the Stevens’s house, all the agents took some time to orient themselves to their new surroundings. 

“Michael?” The melody collapses into temporary extinction. While Kitt intended to address both passengers, he was more in the habit of speaking directly to Knight when he was in the driver’s seat. 

“Uh, yeah, Kitt?” He puffs out, stretching his lanky legs out under the steering yoke. Who would have thought that three hours straight of driving could reward a person with a plethora of muscle spasms?

“I'm afraid I don’t understand.” Kitt starts, pausing to figure out how to phrase his continuation. 

Michael not missing the opportunity to be a comedian returns, “there’s a lot of things you don’t comprehend, buddy. Tell me something I don’t already know.”

The Bostonian voice patiently replies, “If you hadn’t so rudely interrupted, I would have already said it by now.”

Had Kitt not adequately defended himself, Bonnie would have jumped to his rescue. She had taken great pains to create his current hard drives and CPUS. To this day, they were more advanced than any other mechanic had created. Any note of their failure would reflect poorly upon her. Alas, she allows it to slide. Her attention instead turns to focus on the economic situation of the neighborhood. She might not have had the same schooling as Michael, but she worked enough cases to know that people who were financially hard-pressed were more apt to turn to a life of crime, wittingly or unwittingly. As much as she hated to suspect it, it wasn’t entirely of the realms of possibility here. Maybe, Kent Stevens ran into some kind of financial ruin? Money could buy an awful lot of luxuries, things FLAG agents like herself, did without. Worse still, cold hard cash had the power to shift even some of the strongest loyalties. Benedict Arnold, case-in-point. 

Kitt eagerly proceeds. “There is nothing special about this place. It’s fairly nondescript. How would anyone know that Kent Stevens and his family lived here?” A note of disappointment colors his inflections. It was clear he had been expecting something grander. He wasn’t wrong. Stevens’s house was a delightfully understated cottage that looked very much like every other place on the street. 

Michael’s mind immediately skips to the idea that this could potentially be an inside job or set-up. Hypothetically, the theory made some sense. It just didn’t feel right. He can’t explain it rationally. It was more the prickling of the hairs on the back of his neck than something of concrete substance to build upon. But why would anyone deliberately hand over their own address to dangerous felons? If they were smart, they wouldn’t even to escape detection, because it invited too much trouble. So the thought is shelved for now.

Kitt’s question becomes trapped in Barstow’s calculating mind. Bonnie has a sneaking hunch of what the answer might be. Her face takes on a slight pallor, her expression souring. She sits up straight and turns to look at Michael and the center console before speaking. “The local White Pages still have residential addresses listed. Don’t they? And, if that is the case, then someone might have known about his work for the Foundation and through some digging, discovered it.”

Scanners whir in approval. “She’s right, Michael. I just referenced the latest edition of the local White Pages and his address and number are both listed.” To prove the findings, the material flashes up on to his screen. Kitt specifically hones in on the black and white print. 

Knight harrumphed. He wasn’t upset that Bonnie was correct. No, that part was a relief. Rather, he found it exasperating that they had managed to get nowhere fast with this investigation. The number of people who had access to Kent Stevens’s address had just increased exponentially. Which, by virtue meant the pool of suspects just went from being a cutesy little fish-tank with a handful of individuals to an industrial-sized fishnet full. “Great. That won’t make our job any easier.” But when had the Foundation’s business ever been a stroll in the park?

Resolute a measure of hopeful expectation lingers in his azure orbs as they gaze fondly at Bonnie. “Well, there’s only one way to narrow down our search. That’s talking to Mrs. Stevens.” 

Bonnie eagerly nods.


	9. The Interview with Grace Stevens

The two human FLAG agents received a cordial reception by Grace Stevens. She was close to Kent’s age by all observational estimates, though a lot shorter in stature. Her kindly face was framed with shoulder-length hair that fell in splendid orderly spirals around her shoulders. Her eyes, though burdened with worry, were a smooth hazel that could almost be likened to melted chocolate. The woman even in her troubled state exuded the kindness of a maternal figure. She refused to rest until Bonnie and Michael had both made themselves comfortable and had accepted beverages. 

Once they had all settled into place, Michael makes his move. “Mrs. Stevens, when did you first notice that your husband was gone?” He’d start off with the simpler questions, the ones that stood the least chance of upsetting her. 

“Please, call me Grace.” She politely corrects. His question gave her pause. “When he never came home two days ago.” She apprehensively worries her lower-lip between her teeth. 

Michael scoots forward in his chair. “Grace, I know this is goin’ to sound cruel and I’m sorry.” He prefaces his next inquiry. “But what makes you think that this was an abduction and not somethin’ innocent like a last-minute work trip or gettin’ away for a day or so?” The curly-haired former police detective hated asking things like this. Often times, it dredged up unpleasant things that couples or families have been denying. Everyone had their dark secrets. 

Thankfully, Grace hadn’t taken offense. Dabbing a tissue against her watering eyes, she answers. “Kent is a darling. He never goes anywhere without leaving a note or making a phone-call. He calls me at least twice a day.” Giving a mournful look at the phone she lets out a sob. “Its been silent the past forty-eight or so hours. The only people to have called were Devon Miles to tell me of your impending arrival and the local Police seeking out more information.”

Bonnie feels a lump forming in her throat at the sight of the other woman’s anguish. Delicately, she places her cup of coffee upon the nearest table before crossing the room to sit on the arm of the chair beside Grace. With all the ginger care possible, the brunette allows her arms to encompass the older woman’s shoulders. Her own turquoise hues shone with empathy as they beheld her and then returned to Michael. A silent entreaty lays etched upon her lips for him to get to the bottom of this and end Grace’s suffering. 

Michael can read it expertly, that look in Bonnie’s eyes. His heart gives a painful pang against the walls of his rib-cage. He folds his fingers into a pyramid fashion, pressing them to his lips as he contemplated his next question. “Have you checked your bank account for any sudden and large transactions? Or noticed anyone strange observin’ your house?”

Grace’s head lifts slightly. “Why woul... would I need to check my bank account? You can’t be suggesting that my Kent would do something like that.” Disbelief paints her features and she peers up at Bonnie practically begging for an explanation. 

While Bonnie was taken off guard, she calmly articulates a reply. “Well, if we look at your account, we can see if anyone is forcing his hand and having him remove large sums of money. If we’re lucky, we might even be able to trace his location off of any recent transactions.” Haphazardly, she flickers her gaze towards Michael. 

“Bonnie’s right.” He affirms. A part of him swears he has never been more grateful to have her along on an interview. She tactfully kept open a door that was going to be readily shut on him. 

Grace then remembers that Michael had asked about suspicious activity outside of the home and she nearly bolts upright. The abruptness of her movement almost causes Bonnie to fall off her perch. “There was an odd car outside about a week ago. I remember because it didn’t look like any of the ones owned by neighbors.”

Now, they were getting somewhere. A bolt of enthusiasm fizzles excitedly through Michael’s veins. “Good. Can you describe the car?” Dare he hope for a good description of something that happened so many days ago? His cop and army instincts advised him not to. Eye-witness accounts were notoriously unreliable at best. At worst, they wasted countless hours and time was something that just could not be so uselessly fiddled away. His bleeding heart, however, determined that any clue no matter how small or mistaken could be helpful. So he opts to follow his heart. 

Grace’s eyes squint, striving to conjure up a picture of the vehicle out of thin air. She supposed that informing the two agents that it was green and had four wheels wouldn’t be of much help. So she tries harder. “I’m afraid I can’t be much help there. It was a hideous shade of forest green with a dented fender. Oh, and it had a Florida plate.” Sniveling briefly she adds, “there may have been a decal with the word Miami on it.” 

The word ‘decal’ reminded Michael to consider the lapel from the picture. But first thing is first. He stored away the clues that he had been given. Green, Florida, Miami. None of them made much of an impact as they currently stood. In fact, chances of finding that car again were slim to none. But he couldn’t tell Grace Stevens that and he knew Bonnie understood. 

“Does Miami mean anythin’ to you in particular?” Michael pries. His inflection wary of making too many harmful implications without evidence first. “Did he have something goin’ on there?” He’s treading as carefully as possible. 

Grace’s eyes round. “I can’t say that it does. But I made a habit of never digging too deeply into his work affairs. Now, I always wished I had paid more attention.”

It was always too late when most people started to care, Bonnie’s experience practically whispered. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know you needed to.” She cooes encouragingly. “But you’re doing the right thing by calling us in. If anyone can find him, we can.” Her words give off confidence. The will to believe that they could successfully resolve the matter. 

“I have one more question before Kitt and I get to work. “Was your husband a member of any specialized society? I noticed a lapel pin attached to his suit in a picture that the Foundation furnished.” Michael prays he is not overwhelming her or startling her more than she had been already. His hands unintentionally gesture to his upper left chest as though, he was pinning one on himself.

“Why, yes, he is. He’s a member of the local chapter of the Free Masons. He was with them long before we were married.” Grace affirms. “Is...is that important?” She ponders aloud. 

Standing, Michael answered, “it just might be.” But there was a heavy emphasis on the word ‘might’ as he didn’t want to run the risk of getting her hopes up only to dash them. 

Bonnie accompanies Michael on his journey to the door. In a hushed tone, she pries, “you don’t we’ll find him alive. Do you? Is that why you think there hasn’t been any ransom demands or threatening phone calls?” 

His sturdy fingers curl around her arm and pull her close. There is a familiar earnest spilling from his azure hues as they sweep over her. He doesn’t want to have to start weaving webs of dishonesty that might come back to bite him in the butt. Especially, not with her. His shoulders take on a faint slump. “We’ve gotta try. But I’m not gonna lie, it doesn’t look good.” 

She knows she can trust his answer by the gravity that accompanies it. “Michael?” She debates if this was as good of a time as any to tell him that she loved him. After all, he’s heading in to danger. Instead, she offers, “be careful. We don’t know who we’re up against.”

A smile, genuine and none-too- shy finds his lips. “You too. Wait for the call from Devon with the names of the security crew. If they don’t match the ones given to you by the company guys when they arrive, you need to immediately call me and Kitt. We’ll drop everythin’ to get here as fast as we can. If nothin’ excitin’ happens, Kitt and I will return and collect you so we can get back to the motel to regroup.” He lovingly assures her. “Either way, I’ll be back for you. You have my word.”


	10. Kitt Has Important Questions for Michael

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael having to dodge some hot questions.

Every step he that carried him further away from Bonnie to the comfort of Kitt’s cabin felt wrong. She abhorred violence of any kind and wasn’t as accomplished of a fighter as Rc3 was which, regretfully left her Mrs. Stevens vulnerable. Bonnie hadn’t grown up on the mean streets of Chicago like Rc3 so he supposed she had little need to know how to throw punches or fire a gun. Maybe, when this case was over, he would insist upon her taking self-defense classes or at the very least, having her learn how to accurately handle a gun or two. He’d gladly teach her himself. 

If Devon had not required Reginald’s help, Michael would have seen to it that Bonnie had the pleasure of the self-proclaimed ‘Street Avenger’s’ company in his absence. He has to remind himself several times that she didn’t need Rc3 to hover over her. She’d be fine. The only true solace he found himself clutching is that most smart felons, if there were any in this case, rarely returned to the scene of a crime.

Kitt’s engine revs to life. “Where would you like to start, Michael?” He prods, having been paying attention to the whole conversation. There were some fantastic threads that Grace had left dangling and he was anxious to explore them all.

“While we’re headed to the lodge of the local Freemasons, why don’t you take a peek at the Stevens’s bank-account. You see anythin’ unusual? Larger than typical withdrawals for things other than payin’ the bills?” His eyes scan the road, every now and then departing to check Kitt’s console. He could just opt to have Kitt take the wheel but he doesn’t. Driving enables him to think, to maul over all the new information. 

The swooshing of his scanners provided appreciated background noise as Kitt delved into the bank’s files. “The only thing that raises some concern is a recent five-hundred-dollar deposit.” He finally remarks. 

“Can you trace where it came from? Who issued the check? Or where it was deposited?” Michael questions. Interest consuming his vision. 

“Sorry, Michael. That isn’t possible.” 

“Isn’t possible? Come on, Kitt. You are aware that there is a little number at the bottom of the checks...” 

“That’s the problem,” Kitt regretfully states. 

“Oh? How so?” The curly-haired agent challenges. 

“It wasn’t deposited in the form of a check. It was paid in cash,” he bluntly informs. 

“Five-hundred-dollars cash? Hmm.” Michael parrots, eyes narrowing with skepticism. His fingers tighten their grips around the steering yoke as he considers a list of potential explanations. It could have been an innocent gift, he could have won it gambling, or it could be a bribe, or a small down payment for some kind of activity criminal or otherwise. It wasn’t an awfully large sum but it wasn’t nothing either. So which of the aforementioned was it? If Kent’s wife didn’t know where the money came from, there had to be a reason why he didn’t tell her. What was he trying to hide? Was he hiding anything at all? The former police detective suddenly feels very much like a hamster caught in a wheel going around and around and getting nowhere fast. “Does that account include credit card statements?” 

“No. It doesn’t. But when we get back to Graces maybe she’ll let you have a look,” the AI wisely offers.

Michael gives a hesitant sigh.“It’s worth a shot.” He isn’t entirely certain what discrepancies he expects to find. But a part of him expects there to be one. 

And with the temporary conclusion of that conversation, Kitt seizes the open door. “Have you told Bonnie how you feel about her?” He may not be able to compute such things the way humans do but he could tell. The man was oft caught in the habit of sneaking glances at Bonnie when her back was turned. Having been tasked with the care of Michael, he familiarized himself with every nuance. His usual heart-rate, the chord of his voice, the shift in his positions and their meanings, and how to read sarcasm from genuine cruelty. In this studious pursuit, he had taken notice that Michael’s heart rate seemed to soar when she was around. Even more noticeable was that Michael, who never seemed to really be at a loss for words, stumbled over them like poorly discarded bricks in the road, when he spoke with her about anything not pertaining to work. 

Michael sits upright so hard that he accidentally jerks the steering wheel causing them to swerve. That inquiry was loaded. The words set off a slowly ticking explosive he didn’t know was rooted inside of him and he panics as though, he doesn’t know what wires to sever and which ones to avoid all-together. Azure orbs flash towards the console rife with consternation. “No.” His reply is curt. “No, I haven’t. And I’d like you to keep your trap shut about it.” The last thing he needed or wanted was for Kitt to start blabbing to his favorite mechanic about the things he tried so diligently to conceal in the shadows. 

“Why not?” Kitt’s voice is entwined with nothing but curiosity. He is doing what he is good at, pushing the envelope. Well, more like nudging it. Michael was usually so debonair and suave with women and yet, his behavior around Bonnie often felt cringe-worthy even to a vehicle like him. He deduces this peculiarity from the ways in which Devon Miles, Rc3, and Bonnie all respond. 

“Because.” That one word should suffice for an answer. Shouldn’t it? Guilt prompts him to depart with more. “Because it’s complicated.” The sentence is punctuated with a loud unbridled sigh. He knows its a cheap copout and his shoulders give a shrug, knowing this excuse is flimsy. 

Kitt lets his words absorb deep into his chips and wires before speaking again. “Complicated?” He murmurs, not having thought about that. It seemed clear-cut and certain to him. Michael had informed Stevie and a couple of other women when he developed feelings for them and he didn’t work with them every day. So why not do the same with Bonnie? It was obvious she liked him. Kitt noticed the day-dreamy quality that appears in her eyes when she is watching Michael not to mention how upset she gets when something happens to them. Even more so, how distraught she becomes when something has happened to Michael. 

“Yes! Complicated.” He insists, sounding frazzled. Just where was that exit sign on the highway that he needed? Internally, he mused he could use one from this conversation. “Alright! Alright. You wanna know the truth?!” 

Kitt’s scanner slid more slowly, left to right to left again. “I was expecting honesty in the first place.” The tender admonishment drifts over the sound waves. 

Gritting his teeth Knight reluctantly confides.“I think I love her, Kitt, and it frightens me half to death.” That was bound to sound rich coming from a guy who stared down the barrel of guns and narrowly cheated death on a nearly daily basis.

If cars could smile, Kitt would. He managed to pry out of him the reason behind the weirdness between them. “Don’t be so over-dramatic, Michael. What is the worst that could happen if you told her?”

“Awe. Forget it. You wouldn’t understand, Kitt.” Michael remarks, shaking his head from side to side. Thunder erupts in the drumming of his hands against the steering yoke. He continues, “she’s too good for me and she deserves far better than I could ever give her. I couldn’t protect Stevie from my enemies. What if I can’t protect her?“ With that, his gaze droops downwards. “‘Sides, we...” He cuts off amending his reply, “I almost lost her once already. I’m not doin’ that again.” He was so used to saying that when Bonnie went to the University it had been the Foundation’s collective loss but that wasn’t entirely true. He had felt her absence deeper than everyone else. Well, any save for Kitt, or so, he lets himself believe. Bonnie’s departure left a void so wide that even April’s sunny presence couldn’t bridge. It had thrown him into a horrible tailspin for months until Devon had dragged him out of it by forcing him to take on cases. That moment he saw her in the University’s lab, his heart almost burst through his chest with joy. She, of course, resisted and rebuffed his every plea to return to work at first. But his persistence had paid off. He wasn’t sure that the same tactic would ever work to win her over again. He’s hell-bent on not risking it.

“So, promise me ya won’t go sayin’ nothin’ behind my back or anythin’. Okay, pal?” Michael entreats. 

“I still think you should tell her,” Kitt stubbornly insists, “but if it makes you more comfortable I won’t say anything.”

Michael demands, “You promise, pal? Cross your heart and hope to fry?”

Kitt didn’t see the usefulness in making vows. Didn’t Michael know that things like ‘cross my heart and hope to die’ didn’t work for something that had motherboards and chips in the place of a heart? Although, frying was definitely possible. But Kitt opted to ignore that threat. Still, he replied, “if it makes you feel better, I promise.”

“It does. Boy, it does.” Michael slinks back in the seat. A flood of relief almost overwhelms him when he arrives at the lodge. It meant he wouldn’t have to duck any further questions from the left-field, at least, not from Kitt. 

The conversations inside the lodge gave him little to go on save for the fact that Kent Stevens was working on several projects including prison ministries and homeless placements. Could Kent Stevens have met one of the Foundation’s enemies from either one? It’s a question that follows him back into Kitt’s cabin. Because of privacy concerns, the Lodge wouldn’t relinquish a list of criminals Stevens had been working to assist. He’d have to do some more digging to figure out if that had anything to do with their current case. 

“Why don’t ya give Bonnie a call and let ‘er know we’re comin’?” Michael suggests eager to discuss what he had learned with her.


	11. The Arrival of the Security Detail: Bonnie and Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grace takes the opportunity to question Bonnie

While the lackadaisical atmosphere of the neighborhood made it ideal for those contemplating retirement, it made the abduction and this case all the more disconcerting. There is an absence of typical noises one would expect like the rumbling of cars down the street, the melodious sounds of children laughing, and not a peep escapes the dogs. Almost as if, the general populace had fallen into a tranquil slumber. The kind you’d encounter twilight-zone and not in the waking realms of reality. This same sedated spirit pervades the walls of Stevens’s household.

It wasn’t long before Devon had called with the names of the security detail. Santiago Ernesto, Juan Escobar, Maxwell Scholare, and Travis Mays. Bonnie doesn’t know the individuals personally and so she dictated the names on the nearest notepad. Devon must have had to outsource for fear that some of his more critical agents were left at risk. While they awaited the arrival of the security detail, Bonnie and Grace took to conversing.

“He’s really sweet. Isn’t he? That man you work with, Knight, was it?” Grace questions, the tea-glass is swept effortlessly upwards to nestle her lower-lip. Gossip made an excellent diversion when it revolved around what she had just witnessed between the two FLAG agents.

Bonnie finds herself inclined to agree. “Yes, Michael Knight is very sweet.” The confession seemed innocent enough. Right?

Grace lowers her tea-cup ever so slightly. “You have a thing for each other. I can tell. You two behave just as Kent and I did before we were married. The longing glances, the subtle touches of hands, and the likes. We had worked together before his time with the Foundation.”

The brunette mechanic had picked an unfortunate moment to take a sip of her own beverage and as a result choked, nearly spraying her coffee everywhere. Shakily Bonnie questions, “I...I beg y..your pardon?” She uses a kerchief to dab at her lips. She can’t help but feel startled having been called out. I...” Bonnie starts, shifting wholly uncomfortably in her seat, “I... it’s entirely professional between Michael and myself.”

“Naturally,” Grace responds with an almost motherly flare. Her eyes shining with a high-spiritedness that had been previously lacking. “You’re smitten with him. Aren’t you?” She pauses, taking several minutes to read Bonnie’s expression. “You pretend not to care, but I see it in your eyes. Or is it that you don’t allow yourself to care for fear of being hurt?” Grace highly suspected it was the last statement that rang true for the pretty mechanic.

Bonnie’s soul had never felt more exposed to a stranger. How could she know so much about her after spending a few hours together? It was perplexing and vexing, to say the least. Her gaze is cast downwards in flutters of dark lashes. A deep scarlet flushes through her cheeks, scalding them with the same intensity of heat as a fresh brewed coffee. “I....” For as educated as she was, Bonnie floundered for a way to dispel the analysis of the other woman. This time, her mind takes careful consideration of the ways in which her reply could be interpreted. She had been so hapless in revealing too much of her hand with the confession earlier, she dares not make the same mistake twice.

“Mark my words, it’ll be him you end up at the altar with. No one else will ever come close.” Tapping her finger against the delicate porcelain Grace continues, “it was the same way with my Kent and I. Everyone else could see it long before we ever allowed ourselves to acknowledge our own feelings.”

Bonnie’s turquoise hues flash upwards, startled by the other woman’s proceeding assessment. Was she right? Were the two of them destined to end up together? She was just about to pose her elegant rebuttal to the woman’s statements when the doorbell rang.

The FLAG agent reveled in the reprieve that the interruption afforded her. It was the security detail! Thank heavens. Every name gifted her from the other side of the door happened to match the ones scripted on the notepad. A Colombian man with the name Santiago seemed to be the head speaker of the group whereas the others seemed to fall into the background.

“First things first, Senorita. We’re going to take a look around the property to make sure we don’t find anything out of the ordinary, tracking devises, cameras, and the likes.” Kitt had already done a preemptive scan but it wouldn’t hurt to let the hired help do one of their own. The fact that they thought to check puts Bonnie at ease. Devon certainly knew good groups to call in.

While they were investigating the surroundings and speaking with Grace, Bonnie disappeared into the kitchen to re-write some of the Foundation’s code on a notepad of paper. She’d have to wait until she got back to the semi before she could truly update the computer’s systems without the fear of leaving the network more vulnerable to more hackers. Besides, she’d like to run some of the improvements by Devon Miles and Rc3 before they were actually implemented.

Hours passed quickly and the security detail settled in their stations, one man on every door and one seated in Grace’s living-room with Grace. Grace made sure to dote upon the detail as well, just as she had the FLAG agents. She and Juan seemed to make fast friends talking about everything and anything under the sun.

When the phone rang, everyone just about jumped out of their skin. Bonnie waited for the third ring to take up the receiver. “Hello?” She smoothly remarks. “I see. We’ll be expecting your arrival.”

Turning to Grace, who had joined her in the room, Bonnie replies, “that was Kitt. He and Michael are going to be swinging by to pick me up. Before they do, I want to leave you with the address and phone number of our hotel. If you ask the staff, I’m sure they will connect you with my room or Michael’s.” She adds after a moment of hesitation. One of the room numbers was bound to be changed based on the petitioning she had done the other evening before being confined to the same room. The staff had readily promised her two separate rooms upon their return. Would they really make good on their vow? Bonnie can’t quite predict for certain. Still, she rested assured that the front desk would give out their names and connect the telephone calls to the according room.

Bonnie refused to leave Stevens’s house without mentioning to Grace that she intended to return the next morning. For which, Grace thanked her at least fifteen times. It seemed female companionship did them both well in such trying circumstances. As Devon predicted, Bonnie’s presence had been soothing.


	12. Return to the Motel

The three-hour ride back to the motel was full of lively chatter regarding the findings of the case thus far. The strange circumstances surrounding the five-hundred-dollar deposit drew a myriad of speculations that perplexed all three agents. Each one offered up their own untested and unproven theories. Each new theory puzzling the agents more than the last.

With every forward churning of the wheels towards the motel, the shades of dusk deepen in the skies around them. When they finally arrived at the motel, the hour was hedging towards midnight. Exiting the cabin, Bonnie and Michael stretch out their limbs.

“Ya know somethin’ Bons? I gotta a feelin’ I’m gonna sleep clear till mornin’. I’m exhausted.” Michael remarks, barely biting back a yawn.

Bonnie sheepishly smiles knowing exactly what he meant. The past twenty-four hours had felt elongated as if, it stretched on far longer than any period ought to. “Same here.” She readily agrees as they traverse the pavement together.

“I’m gonna make sure you get settled and then I’ll check to see if they have my room ready,” Michael casually remarks, sensing her unease about his following her to the room.

Just as they rounded the corner to the room they shared last night, Kitt calls over Michael’s comlink. But he doesn’t have to say anything for at that very moment, Bonnie and Michael found themselves face to face with the cause of Kitt’s alarm. The door leading to the room they had shared last night had been splintered down.

“Someone has broken into your room.” Spilled Kitt’s Bostonian twang.

“Yeah. We see it, Kitt. Tell us somethin’ we don’t already know.” Michael grimly states.

Michael edges forward, placing himself between Bonnie’s slender figure and the wide-open room. His gun is extracted from the holster effortlessly and he slowly breaches the entryway, mindful that the person who ransacked the room could have lingered in the hopes of landing an ambush. It was highly unlikely that someone would do something so foolish in a public place but he wasn’t about to take that risk. Especially, not while Bonnie was with him. 

The pulse of adrenaline collectively teases at their eardrums. All traces of sleepiness between Bonnie and Michael had seemingly evaporated in light of the new circumstances. The room was obviously not in the state they had left it in. The sheets lay in tangles on the floor, the mattress hung lopsided off the frame with the evidence that it had been flipped, the phone took up residence on the floor it’s connective cables severed and frayed by way of a knife.

“The responsible party is already gone.” Kitt assesses skillfully having done a thorough scan of the tossed room.

Bonnie slips past Michael to check on where she left her bags and shouts, “Michael!”

With one hurried stride, the poodle-permed agent finds his way to her side, his free hand coming to rest on her shoulder as she peers into an empty corner. His own gaze locks on the same spot. At first, confusion mars his countenance. It hardly seemed like anything to get worked up over until he recollected what had been there in the first place. 

“They are... my bags.... they’re gone!” Bonnie frantically states. “Why would someone take my belongings?” She spins to face him, a hair away from turning hysterical and not in the comedic sense. A static sensation ripples down every vertebrae of her spine as she considers the fact that the intruder could have been after more than her fresh laundry. Thankfully, she had taken her notebook containing Foundation codes and all her forms of identification with her to Grace’s house. Otherwise, those documents and her badges might have been absconded with. 

Michael wished he had an answer for her but he doesn’t. Was this a simple robbery? The inner police detective cast that line of thought into doubt. If it had been a simple robbery, why had the television, radio, and phone been left behind? Surely, those things would have more value than Bonnie’s bags. Right? If it wasn’t a simple robbery there were more frightening possibilities. One of them being that someone knew where they were staying. He quickly runs down a mental list of the people who had been told of their accommodations. He quickly rules out the Foundation staff he trusts- Devon, Rc3, Kitt, and a few others. Then he moves to the broader spectrum. There were a select few who had been gifted that information and all of them, unfortunately, had motives to see the FLAG agents come to harm. Whose toes had they stepped on? Where had they trampled them? Why? And how? The investigation seemed to be turning up more inquiries. Were they closer to the answers they sought than they originally thought? Damned if he knew.

One thing was certain, neither of them could stay in this room for the night. Especially, since the door was inoperable. “Maybe, while we’re at the front desk getting our rooms changed, I can take a look at the security cameras.” He offers, in an effort to settle Bonnie’s nervousness.

“Good idea.” Bonnie agrees. She didn’t want to stick around the scene of the crime a moment longer than she had to. Bonnie only hoped the staff at the front desk of the motel would be more helpful than they had previously been.


	13. More Mixups

The walk to the front desk might as well have been ten miles long, covering densely forested terrain, with the amount of time it took for the FLAG agents to get there from the trashed room. Neither Bonnie nor Michael dared debate the cause of their discovery, though it weighed heavily on both of their minds. 

When the receptionist spotted them, she grinned widely. Cheerfully, she greeted, “ah, Mr. And Mrs. Knight! We’ve been expecting you!” She barely gives them time to correct her assumptions when she continues, “we’re awfully sorry about the trouble you’ve encountered with your previous room. We were made aware of the situation, not more than an hour ago. Anticipating your return, we’ve upgraded your accommodations for free. We’re going to give you the best room we have to offer.” Two keys are slid across the marble counter-top in their direction. “Enjoy your stay in the honeymoon suite.”

Uncertainty floods both Flag Agent’s eyes at the same time as their gazes awkwardly meet.

Why hadn’t the motel informed them of the situation? Especially, if they were made aware of the break-in without the addition of their complaints? It was strange, to say the least. That, however, was not one of the more pressing matters at hand. The fact that the hotel assumed they were married took precedence. At least, in Bonnie’s mind.

“No!” Bonnie protests loudly, physically recoiling. Her exclamation draws the attention of several onlookers in their direction. She repeats herself. “No.” The second time, the word escapes her in a far softer tone. The pent-up frustration is clearly evident in the slight quivering of her usually steady hands. The receptionist is locked briefly in the cross-hairs of her turquoise orbs. “I’m afraid there has been a misunderstanding! We’re not married!” She could almost feel the swirl of gossip that would carry that piece of information throughout the motel. She wasn’t that kind of woman!

A wistful glance is shot in Michael’s direction but he is being of no help. He is too busy chuckling like a giddy squirrel. She could have taken it a step further and argued that they weren’t even together which, in most respects of the phrase, happened to be the Gospel truth but she doesn’t. Her reputation couldn’t withstand another blow. The brunette can feel her forehead throbbing, foreshadowing the incredible makings of a headache. This was turning out to be a night from hell with her clothing getting snatched and the room situation not improving. “Don’t you have another room? A single or something?” She prods.

“No. No misunderstanding, I assure you.” The woman behind the desk remarks. “You asked for two singles rooms together. Right? We give you the largest of single rooms together.” The woman gestures with her hands the joining of spaces. She listens, almost offended, by Bonnie’s near refusal of the best room. It is fairly obvious that such an offer has never been rejected before in the motel’s history. She counters Bonnie’s next inquiry with, “we’re sold out. We just sold our last room at seven this evening. The only ones left unoccupied are your room from last night, the one without a door, and the honeymoon suite.”

In the grand scheme of things, this predicament was quite comical. Michael, having ceased in expressing the humor of the situation, languidly drags the pads of his thumb and middle finger across the backs of his eyes. A part of him can hazard a guess as to where the mishap in translation occurred between the receptionist and his favorite mechanic. She must have gone the long way around, having meant to ask for adjoining rooms. Now, here they were. 

Sure. The honeymoon suite wouldn’t have topped the list of desired accommodations but it could be worse. They could be gearing up for a night in state lock-up surrounded by real felons. Sensing that the receptionist's explanation was grating on Bonnie’s already unraveling nerves, Michael intervenes. His one hand gingerly presses to Bonnie’s nearest arm as the fingers from the other hand clutch around the room keys. “It’s okay. It’s better this way.” He starts deploying his natural charisma and charm. Michael tips his head conspiratorially closer before murmuring in Bonnie’s ear, “listen. If whoever trashed our room comes back, I’d feel a hell of a lot better if you were in the room with me.” He is treading lightly, trying not to insult her lack of brute strength while also getting Bonnie to see the situation his way. Sharing the honeymoon suite shouldn’t be a problem for them after sharing a bed the previous night.

Knight’s reasoning makes sense, as resistant as Bonnie is to admit it. Her shoulders drop as she parts ways with a frazzled sigh. “Alright.” She ceases her petitioning with a placating rise of the hands. Turning back to the front desk, she prompts, “you wouldn’t happen to have a roll-a-way cot? Would you?”

The gracious receptionist's dark brows furrow together tightly. “No ma’am. We lent all of them out for the night. Some family with a horde of kids came in and required all five of our roll-a-ways. I’m sorry. If you’d like I can put one in your names when they next become available.” Her unwavering smile almost vanished when she thought Bonnie was about to argue with her again.

Michael too tired to watch Bonnie hit walls with the motel staff over room arrangements, presses, “do you think I can have a look at your surveillance footage?”

“Do you have a warrant?” The receptionist questions, looking him dead in the eye.

Michael clears his throat and straightens his stance. He hadn’t been expecting her opposition. “Well, no. But I was hopin’ I wouldn’t need one.” He cast her a doleful expression in the hopes that it would work wonders on the lady’s stubborn resolve.

“Why don’t you come back when you have one?” She quips.

It is clear that her patience wearing thinner than the coat of polish atop her fingernails so he dares not press her further. Instead, he’d do things the hard way. He’d hack into the system using Kitt’s extensive programming. “Sorry, we’ve troubled you this evenin’. We’re gonna go and check out our room and settle in for the night.” He states. If his remark was intended more for Bonnie’s or the receptionist’s ears he does not directly specify. Michael then makes a show of offering the brunette his arm. “Come on, Mrs. Knight. Our room awaits,” he teases. Michael is well aware that he is instigating but he is enjoying this too much to care. His lips pull into the widest grin that could ever fit upon his handsome face without warping it. Bonnie Knight. It had a kind of ring to it. Didn’t it? He kind of enjoyed the idea of claiming Bonnie as his, though he’d never venture to say that aloud. If only, he could be so fortunate. 

“Very funny,” Bonnie grumbles. She wastes no time in linking arms with him even while she isn’t in the most upbeat of moods. Their progress is cut short when the brunette abruptly halts. “I just thought of something. Without my bags, I don’t have my pajamas...” She bashfully allows her voice to trail off. A part of her is too frightened to even meet Michael’s gaze.

Impishly, Michael teases, “you won’t need ‘em anyway.” A flash of lust colors his eyes while they sweep over her. An indecent thought definitely crosses his mind but he continues with the exuberant explanation of his statement.“We have the honeymoon suite.” He feels his external temperature rising by several degrees. The warmth translates into a shade of Salmon on his cheeks. As a result, he quickly diverts his gaze. A boyish mirth soon takes over the spaces in his azure hues that the lust once occupied when he dares to look at her again. 

“Michael!” Bonnie chastises in the form of a hiss. Her heart thunders to life at the implication. She swats him with her free hand. “I’m being serious here.” He definitely shouldn’t quit his day job to become a comedian.

It took a lot of effort to return his expression to anything close to serious. When he finally manages, he replies, “you won’t need ‘em. You can borrow one of my shirts and a pair of my pants for the night. If the pants fit.” He knows his clothes were hardly the comforts of her regular night attire but he still them offered up the only things he had on hand.

Had it not been such a late hour, Bonnie could have called Rc3 to immediately bring out another set of clothes but she was left with very little option other than to accept Knight’s offer. 

“I’ll inspect the room then I’ll give you time to shower and change. While you’re doin’ that, I’ll see what Kitt and I can dig up in regards to the surveillance videos. We’ll also update Devon and Rc3. I’ll even be sure to tell ‘em to bring out some new clothes for you.” Michael outlines his plan. Internally, he hopes she will agree to it as he hadn’t formulated an alternate one. “Hows that sound?” He questions.

Bonnie gives him a sheepish smile. “I like the sound of that.” While she had no choice but to have clothes brought to her, it still felt weird to ask Rc3 to rummage through her closets. They were all family at the Foundation and she trusted that Rc3 would be discreet about what he’d uncover in the way of unmentionables. Tasking Reginald with this mission, however, might mean she would have some really interesting wardrobe choices handed to her. That isn’t to say he didn’t have a fantastic taste in fashion, he did, it just wasn’t the same as her’s. His own sense was louder, more boisterous than her own. But entrusting Rc3 was definitely better than the alternative options of wearing the same clothes she had all day or traipsing about in Knight’s clothes. All she can do now is hold her breath and hope she survives the night.


	14. Nightly Report

When he had inspected the room to a satisfactory degree, Michael did as he said. He left to give Bonnie some privacy but not without making sure she had some of his clothes to change into. Incidentally, he had left her with his favorite shirt. No matter how many times it had been washed, his cologne seemed interwoven with the material. He can only imagine how strong it smelt coming out of his overnight bag. Michael had always been confident about the scent, until now, when the person he actually loved might be enveloped in it. What if Bonnie found it off-putting or repulsive? The car keys are jangled apprehensively in his hands as he makes his way back to Kitt. He had work to do. He can’t dwell in the realms of his own petty and worrisome thoughts. 

The upholstery of the driver’s seat practically absorbs his aching muscles while he converses with Devon Miles and Rc3. 

Exhaustion is evident in the bags forming underneath the patriarch’s eyes. The stress, though it is not directly acknowledged, perches upon his pursed lips. “I am afraid that I’m not entirely comfortable with you and Bonnie staying at that motel when there has already been one break-in. Are you absolutely certain it was only your room that had been vandalized?” Devon questions, an air of skepticism sneaking into the undercurrent of his English accent. 

“Yeah, Devon. You’d think, I’d notice if someone else’s door was missing too.” He doesn’t mean to be snarky, it just happens. While he hadn’t taken the time to look before, he certainly did now, if only to appease his own sense of curiosity. “I just checked again and they are all there. All but one. All but ours.” He glumly reiterates. 

Reginald peered up from the paper he had been reading, his eyes radiating the same sense of unease as Devon’s. Although he does not say it, he is every bit as worried as Devon is. 

“As much as I despise saying it, dear boy, it feels as though you’ve both been targeted.” Devon prompts. 

Michael nods in agreement. “Funny enough, I’ve gotten that feeling too.” He glumly states. 

“Did you get anywhere with the surveillance video?” Devon questions.

Kitt replies, “no. I’m afraid not, Mr. Miles. There is no footage covering the room. It would seem, their cameras are there solely for aesthetic purposes. They don’t actually function. I did some digging while we’ve been talking and unfortunately, there is only one other camera in the vicinity.” He hated having to burst the hope he had built up but he does it as promptly and delicately as possible. “Unfortunately, the resolution is useless. There is nothing on the film other than a series of indiscernible shadows.” He can’t disguise the disappointment in his voice not even through the use of the vocal modulators. 

“There is one thing that keeps troublin’ me. Why would they take Bonnie’s clothes? You think they were lookin’ for somethin’ she has?” Michael asks. 

Rc3 perches himself on the edge of Devon’s desk. “Michael, my dude, you don’t think they have an impostor Bonnie they might try to pass off on us. Do ya? That kinda stuff only happens in the movies.” Cracking a large toothy grin, he adds, “maybe these guys wanna turn her into a robot? You’d have to admit, she’d make one fine version of RoboCop. Well, in her case, it would be Robo-Mechanic. It’s pretty rad...” 

He is met with two glares and had Kitt been capable, he might have shot one at Reginald too. “What?” Rc3 shrugs playfully. “Stranger things have happened.”

Devon was not at all entertained by the conjectures from the newest addition to the staff. While he failed to find it comedic, part of what Rc3 suggested was not overly far-fetched. Could her clothes have been absconded with so that they could attempt to pass another off as Dr. Barstow? The thought is disconcerting, to say the least. But why? Squinting in thought, Devon remarks, “we’ll bring out the Mobile Command Center in the morning. I have a feeling we will need all hands on deck with this one.” 

“Do me a favor? Huh? Bring Bonnie out some of her own clothes while you’re at it. I know she is dying to be dressed more civilly and comfortably.” Michael adds. He knows she will probably only tolerate his clothes until she had her own to return to and it saddens him a touch. 

Rc3′s countenance warped with genuine concern. “How are we supposed to know what she wants from her closet?”

The poodle-permed agent shrugged. “I don’t know. I usually grab the first things I can find. Just make sure it is tasteful. Okay?”

Before signing off Devon insists, “do me a favour, Michael. Try not to get in any more trouble before we arrive. It seems you’ve done enough poking of the hornet’s nests for one night.”

Michael laughs nervously. “What kind of trouble can I get into with Bonnie at this hour?” Maybe, he should have thought before he spoke those words aloud. They definitely sounded better when they were housed in his cranium. 

Kitt was about to compile a list before he realized it had been a hypothetical question. Devon and Rc3 knew better than to offer up suggestions. Instead, they politely signed off.


	15. Chapter 15

The brunette stares at the door in his wake far longer than she probably should have, his shirt tucked between her fingers. This notion of putting on clothes that belonged to her annoyingly attractive co-worker felt bizarre. Was this crossing a boundary she didn’t even know existed until this very moment? Was it even crossing a line at all because Michael had freely given her the shirt to wear? It would have been different if she had taken it without his permission. Wouldn’t it?

Bonnie haphazardly allows her gaze to falter downwards examining the shirt’s entirety. She supposed wearing it for one night couldn’t harm anyone. It is warmer than she expected. Of course, it had just been removed from Kitt’s trunk but it might as well have come straight off of Knight’s back. It is this thought in particular that propels her towards the shower. The brunette luxuriates under the stream of hot water for longer than she probably should have given Michael’s impending return yet, she doesn’t care.

For someone as observant as Bonnie, it felt strange that she hadn’t discerned the sheer size of Michael’s shirt until the very moment her eyes peer into the mirror. In the glass’s silvery reflection, she can’t help but notice how dwarfed her smaller frame was when it happens to be draped in the cotton material. The blue fabric extends, reaching for the brunette’s kneecaps but never quite makes it. Rather, it falls short by at least four and a half inches, exposing a good length of her bare legs without being inappropriately indecent. 

With a laugh, she considers the pair of Michael’s shorts she had discovered folded up inside of the shirt. Feeling exposed given her habit of covering up her lanky legs, Bonnie tentatively slides them on over her own undergarments. The result was hysterical even to her. The cinched elastic of the waistband was scarcely enough to hold the boxers up over the curve of her hips. So much for the extra covering! The ensemble was better off without the shorts. Besides, Michael might be fine with gifting her his shirt but would he really be comfortable with seeing her in his shorts? Michael would probably need to have them back. She isn’t entirely certain he is aware that he handed them to her in the first place. Bonnie slips them off and folds them up, leaving them to rest on the sink’s counter for their rightful owner. 

Her sopping dark hair hangs down around her shoulder and she deliberates on pulling the sopping strands into one of her typical ponytails in order to avoid unsightly wet-patches. Imagining his reaction to those same unsightly patches, Bonnie eventually determines to pull her hair back rather than dying of embarrassment later.

Bonnie cringes at the thought of having to use the cheap, pre-selected deodorant sample left by the motel staff. Would it cover-up the pleasant scent of Michel that already encompassed her via his shirt? She hopes not. Bonnie figures she can’t very well share a bed with him without applying some form of antiperspirant. Please don’t smell worse than petrol, gasoline, or anti-freeze, she internally begs, giving the sample a tentative sniff. She is about to put it on when a wrapping noise against the door jolts her. Could the thieves have returned? Her mind races to life. If a sound could be applied to the rapid pace of her thoughts, it might have been likened to the sudden reeving of an engine. 

Doing the first thing she can think of, she barricades herself in the bathroom. Bonnie’s heart gives a heavy, painful thump against her rib-cages before beating out a series of SOSes in her ears. Her turquoise orbs seek out a weapon but the only things available to wield in battle were towels, a shady looking toilet plunger, and soap. If she was crafty and quick enough, maybe she could fashion something out of the rod used to hold up the shower curtain. Standing on the thick fiber-glass ledge of the tub, Bonnie finds herself reaching for the rod. The brunette fumbles the second a familiar voice beckons to her. Thank heavens for quick reflexes or she would have ended up falling face flat into the hollow of the still wet tub.

“You okay in there, Bons? It’s just me!” He slips the door shut in his wake. Michael is extra careful to bolt the door. Tonight, he wasn’t going to be taking any chances.

Through gritted teeth she manages, “I’m fine.” Truth was, he could have easily given her a heart-attack. Although, the longer she considers it, the sillier she felt. She had been fully aware that Michael was going to be returning. Why her brain had automatically leapt to the worst-case scenarios, she couldn’t directly say. Maybe, it had something to do with the fears lingering in her mind regarding the previous break-in.

Scrambling downwards, she cracks the door open. “The water should be warm again if you want to take your shower. I’ll be out in a minute and the bathroom will all yours,” she communicates. Her departure from the bathroom, however, is made conditional. “Before I come out, you have to promise not to look.”

Michael places one of his large hands on his hips and flashes a smug grin in the direction of the bathroom door. “Oh?” The pad of his thumb is slowly dragged across his lip as he contemplates rejecting her demand. “Okay. I won’t look. Scout’s honor.” He makes a show of raising his hand in the boy-scout salute. He even turns his back to her and presses his eyes closed as a gesture of good faith.

Bonnie gradually emerges from the bathroom and slowly traipses across the room.

It is a real shame Michael had never really been a boy-scout and so he cast a glance over his shoulder at her. Although his full vision is clouded with his eyelashes, he can still make out her figure. Forgetting himself, he whistles. He can feel a strange glow warming the slopes of his finely chiseled face which, boasts a rare blush. A blush that is worn with pride.

The sound causes Bonnie to spin around on her heels. “You peeked! Didn’t you!” Twinges of indignation seep into the accusation. She should have expected him to pull a stunt like that. Huh?

“Maybe. Just a little.” He motions with his hand. “But can ya really blame me?” Michael cheekily prompts. He turns to face her refusing to conceal the fact that he is gawking at her any longer. Azure hues sweep upwards from her ankles, up the refined clean-shaven curves of her exposed legs, till his vision fixes upon her reddened face. Michael feels confident that his shirt has never better than it did on her far prettier frame. If he didn’t know any better, he was falling harder than ever for her. “You’re prettier than a picture.” Speaking of pictures, he’d like to take about a thousand different ones of her the way she looked in his shirt. The fabric seemed to hang with deliberate ease upon her more curved features and it fell loosely around her middle and legs. How was it he had never taken notice of her legs before now? 

“What happened to Scout’s honor?” She laughingly questions. Bonnie hates how aware she is of his ogling. She can feel her entire face burning a horrible shade of crimson. 

Running his hand sheepishly through his curls he returns,“must’a forgot all about it. Then again, I never made it outta cub scouts. ” His grin never wavering. “Maybe you should do a tune-up on my memory banks with those special tools of yours?” He bravely suggests. 

“You’re incorrigible, Michael Knight!” She plucks the nearest pillow from the bed and swats him with it.

“Would ya want me to be any other way?” He prods. Chuckling loudly, he heads for the shower. He’ll definitely need an arctic blast tonight.

Sitting on the bed she watches his retreat to the bathroom. Was there a cryptic message in what he had said? She figures all of the day’s excitement had to be tainting her interpretation so she elects to drop it.


	16. Chapter 16

Michael’s azure hues dazzle, vibrant in their appearance, as he contemplates the idea of Bonnie being turned into a robot. The imaginings were largely inspired by Rc3′s earlier commentary. If he tried hard enough, he could picture the wires, cords, and computer chips strung expertly together to make up her perfect body. Maybe, Rc3 wasn’t that far off? What else could account for Dr. Barstow’s expansive intelligence? Knight humorously considers, lathering the motel’s conditioner through the dark coils of his hair. 

Helios and the Foundation both knew that Bonnie possessed an elite mind. Unfortunately, the one particular section of Helios that had taken interest in her happened to be corrupt with criminals. That was entirely beside the point. All Michael could do, was chalk the incident up to another time where he almost lost her. Internally, he was beginning to despise the word ‘almost’. It implied an inability to fully grasp what he so desired all-the-while, maintaining that she could still leave. If he waited too long, he could blink and she’d be gone again. This thought alone causes his eyes to dull with hints of sadness.

Kitt was right to label him a coward. A coward who is constantly hiding his true feelings behind nearly impenetrable facades, Michael thinks to himself. He could blame it on the metal implant in his head, his time working in Intelligence, or even his life-times worth of trauma, and the number of losses he suffered. Heck, Michael could honestly apply just about a trillion more excuses but he doesn’t. 

He lets a torrent of cold water followed by warm, rinse over all of his features, washing away his dour line of thinking. One day, he should free himself of the tethers of fear and dread that conspired to keep him and Bonnie apart forever. 

Would he ever get a better opportunity to tell her than tonight? Michael ponders as he towels himself off and re-dresses. He can’t. He won’t! There has to be a better time, a better place than a motel, and a more convenient opportunity. He didn’t even have roses to assist his effort to woo her. Casting a wistful glance in the mirror, he reminds himself just how short he would always fall on the scale of measuring up to what Bonnie deserves. 

In his departure of the bathroom, he finds himself greeted by the hums of the television which, was now turned on and casting it’s ethereal glow throughout the darkened room. Michael finds himself staring at Bonnie again. He can’t help it. She looked spectacular bathed in the luminosity radiating from the tv. Every one of her features seemed infinitely softened to the point of angelic glory under it’s careless caress. Even the look of determination she sported upon her countenance melted. From his observations, Michael gathers that she was multi-tasking, the way she always did when there were too many things burdening her mind. 

Michael slings his towel around his neck like a decorative scarf, though neither end meets or crosses, as he strides across the room. After several minutes of silent observation, curiosity gets the better of him. “Whatcha workin’ on there, Bons?”

Turquoise hues begrudgingly lift upwards, departing from the pages of her splayed open notebook. The pages are jammed full of fresh equations, side-notes, and scribbled addendums. Bonnie had been working on adding more when he interrupted. Michael looked as shiny as a brand new penny with his damp mop of curls. The smile that accompanies his inquiry encourages her to answer. “I was...” Bonnie starts, praying he didn’t find her too nerdy to be attractive, “working on the coding mechanisms for the Foundation. Since some of the systems have been compromised, I’m working on making security-related improvements. I can’t really do too much without the computer physically in front of me, but this will give me ideas on what to try first.” She invitingly pats the opposite side of the mattress for him to sit down. 

Michael can’t help but be impressed and his eyebrows elevate as he listens to her. “Ya mean all that jibberish is the code that will protect the Foundation?” He can hardly mask the surprise in his own inquiry as he seats himself beside her. 

The brunette cocks her head casually to the side, stifling a soft laugh. Her eyes can’t help but dance with light as they focus on him.“Well, it is really a prototype of the code.” She should have known, that to his untrained eye, it would be interpreted as the equivalent of a foreign language filled with indiscernible hieroglyphics. Never one to excessively flaunt her intelligence, Bonnie slid the notebook closed and placed it and her pencil on the nightstand beside the bed. 

Chewing the corner of her lip briefly, she adds, “and I was watching this show. I hate to say it, but they’re doing the repairs on that truck wrong.” Her gaze flashes towards the motion on the screen. Realizing that this made her sound overly critical, she tacks on, “not even terrible modifications are done that way. It is not only a fire hazard, but it is a good way to lose mechanical control on the road when you hit anything above fifty miles-per-hour.” She would have delved further into the complicated explanation but she really didn’t want to right now. “Feel free to change the channel to something better. I really stopped watching it intently about ten minutes ago when he started to cross the wrong wires.” She confides, slumping back against the pillows behind her.

Normally, Michael would hazard a guess at where the show’s mechanic went wrong but he doesn’t want to appear dim-witted, in her eyes, should his assumption be incorrect. So he willingly lets her remark evaporate into the air around him. He follows her lead, flopping back against pillows that rested against the bed’s headboard. He gleefully takes up the remote as he makes himself comfortable beside her. “What do ya wanna watch?”

“Anything but that last show and the news,” she answers with a half scrunched up nose.

Those requests were easy enough to abide by. He settles for something that appears to be a romantic comedy. It was hard to tell for certain if that was exactly what he landed upon because the movie was half-way through. Most women loved the silly Hallmark romances, right? Where could he go wrong? However, Bonnie wasn’t just any woman, so he studies her in order to gauge her reaction to his selection. To his pleasant surprise, she not only smiles, she hands him the champagne bottle. 

“We might as well enjoy it since it’s free,” Bonnie offers. The way she said it, felt lame as it steamrolls passed her lips. The statement felt duller than she intended. Bonnie wanted to say something more meaningful, more intimate but that would be wrong. Wouldn’t it? He remains forbidden fruit.

Michael doesn’t even seem to notice the lackluster capacity of her suggestion. He cheerfully opens the bottle and pours them both a glass. They were certainly responsible adults. “So, what are we toastin’ to?” After a thoughtful pause, he jokingly adds, “and please don’t say this room or Devon.”

As strange as it might sound when Bonnie passed him the bottle, she hadn’t considered the idea that there would be a toast worth giving. At least, not one that should be shared between co-workers. She runs her pointer-finger slowly across her lower-lip giving herself time to think of something. Work. It was the safest of all of their options given their present predicament. Although, in her heart, she would prefer toasting to this night together. “How about a toast to us?” She eagerly proposes, her turquoise orbs hesitantly floating over to examine him.

Michael chokes in astonishment.“To us?” He parrots. He isn’t going to lie, he really enjoys the sound of that. It leaves so many wonderful possibilities and it swung open far too many doors.

Shifting in her place, she affirms. “Yeah. To us.” A proud smile steals across her lips. Bonnie pauses to untangle her thoughts before finally clarifying, “to us making a great team and resolving this case together.”

Leaning in, he smoothly returns, “I think I can drink to that.”

Lifting her glass the brunette breathes, “here is to us getting Kent back and rescuing the Foundation.” Of course, they hadn’t resolved the case just yet but what harm could a premature celebration be?

Setting aside their empty glasses, the two FLAG agents snuggle on top of the blankets to catch the remainder of the movie. While there are heaps of pillows around them, Bonnie opts to rest her head against Michael’s nearest shoulder. Every so often, the brunette would sneak glances up at him through the tangles of her long dark lashes. He is so close. Almost too close but she doesn’t pull away and to her surprise neither does he.

“Look at them, Michael! How do they not see it?! They are so in love and they are so perfect for each other.” She dreamily exclaims, pointing in the direction of the movie. 

Michael’s azure hues snapped towards the screen the very instant she pointed. He had only been half watching the movie, the rest of his attention had been on her. He chuckles a little too loudly at her remark but the sound is edged with unusual jitters. “I don’t know.” His large hand massages the back of his neck because he is well aware that he is holding back just like the unfortunate man in the fictitious premise of the movie. “You’re right, though. It is glaringly obvious that they do belong together.” Maybe, this hadn’t been the right channel selection?

“Bonnie?” He asks, her name departing his lips in an adoring sotto voce. His gaze slowly flutters back down to her.

“Yeah?” She prompts in reply, cheating and focusing half of her attention on Michael and the other half on the movie.

He angles his head downwards and to the side slightly to get a better view of her. Swallowing sharply, he knows that this wasn’t going to be easy. There was a strong likelihood that what he is about to say will have him spending the night on the floor. Yet, he feels compelled to speak. “There is somethin’ I’ve been wantin’ to tell you.” Michael starts, his brow glistening with sweat as he dares to meet her gaze.

Captivated, Bonnie concentrates fully upon him and she giddily prompts.“Oh? What is it?” Without giving him much time to impart his next statement she interjects “wait. Let me guess?” Her lips twist into a jovial grin as she speculates, “you want to tell me that your shirt is too big on me? Or I wouldn’t like a pair of your shorts because it’s got that funny hole in them?” She hardly finishes her assumptions before she falls into a fit of giggling. 

“Well, yes... and no.” He starts, laughing till his chest hurt. His shirt was a little big for her. Still, Bonnie was practically killing him with the mental picture of her in more than just his shirt. However, it was ridiculous to imagine her wearing any of his pants, his shorts especially. His legs were at least a foot longer than her’s. Shaking off the useless imaginings, he tries to regain control of the more serious conversation he hoped to start. “First of all, my shirt looks it’s best when you wear it, over-sized or not. It has never looked better.” He almost suggests that she keep it, but he wonders if that is taking things a bit too far and too fast. “And unless I’m missin’ my mark here, you’ve already tried on my shorts. Haven’t you?” An air of playful accusation colors his tone. What had given away the fact she had tampered with his shorts, was the fact that they were folded differently than the way he had done them and then they were left on the bathroom sink for him when he went to take his shower. 

His laughter feels like the presence of sunshine, balmy and wholly welcomed. She hadn’t been expecting his compliments and as a result, her face slowly stained red. The hilarious accusation, though it was spot-on, deepened the color to a lovely shade of plum. “Okay. So, I’m a little guilty. I was afraid you’d see too much of my legs. You don’t think I’m showing too much skin. Do you?”

Lord. Who suddenly turned the room’s temperature up a hundred degrees? So this was how it felt to be a cake in the nearly 400-degree oven. Michael’s gaze swiftly sweeps up the exposed expanse of her legs. “No.” He sharply swallows the lump of lust rising in his throat. “No, I don’t think there is too much showin’...” Heaven help him if he continued to vocalize the rest of that thought! “And I really have to tell you this or I think I just might burst.” This time his statement is firmer than he actually intended. “I...” He delicately uses his free hand to sweep some of Bonnie’s straying dark strands from her eyes before tucking them back behind her ear. He leans himself nearer until his lips are scantly a breath away from her’s. He can do this. Kitt was right! The whole fear thing was plain silly!!! He just has to rip the bandage off no matter the cost. His heart fiercely bellows out for mercy with every beat. “I....”

Bonnie smiles as he tucks her hair behind her ear, a corner of her lower-lip catches between her teeth. She has a sneaking suspicion that she knows just where this conversation is going and it terrifies her so greatly, she can feel the harsh throbbing of her heart all the way up in the hollows of her ears. The brunette can sense the lingering of his eyes upon her lips and her own gaze ventures briefly to his. If ever there were a silent, touch-less exchange of a kiss, there was one now looming in the air between them.

“I think I... lov...” He starts, his voice is huskier than he desired it to be. He was about to finish that statement when Kitt interrupts with a series of beeps. 

“Michael?” Kitt innocently starts.

There is a mild explosion of exasperation in Michael’s tone when he answers, “Kitt? Can it wait? I’m in the middle of somethin’ important?!” Kitt’s timing couldn’t have been any worse not even on a bad day.

The Bostonian voice that answers holds an apologetic air, “I’m sorry, Michael. It can’t. A group of vicious-looking men are headed your way armed with guns and a battery-operated saw.”

Bonnie’s eyes round as she removes her head from Michael’s shoulder. The fact that these “armed” men were headed in their direction with guns and a saw couldn’t be a coincidence. Now could it? 

The warning doesn’t come a moment too soon as a little less than a minute later their door comes crashing in, deadbolt and all.


	17. Chapter 17

The two FLAG agents aren’t given much of an opportunity to react. Michael finds himself making an agonizing split-second decision. Does he race across the room to retrieve his gun in the off chance that he could neutralize a few of the uninvited interlopers or does he pull Bonnie as far from the looming danger as possible?

Adrenaline and instinct kick in simultaneously. His protective hands urge Bonnie out of bed and towards the bathroom. Internally, he prays that his body can fashion enough of a shield until he could barricade her behind the door. It is not a full-blown plan but it was the best he could formulate under the circumstances. 

Bonnie blindly ambles in Michael’s wake, having been partially paralyzed by the cold terror swirling through her entire circulatory system. Her trembling fingers curl tightly around his hand as she cowers in his shadow. “Think these are the same guys who broke into our last room and then stole my clothes?”

“I don’t know, Bons, but I’m pretty sure we’re about to find out. I’m thinkin’ there is a very high likelihood these goons are one and the same.” Michael replies stiffly, through his tightly clenched teeth. An air of control attempts to filter through the panic in his azure orbs. 

Reflecting on the earlier incident when she had been scared enough to look, Bonnie makes a terrible realization. “There is no back way out of this room. Is there?”

He could feel the heavy pang of his heart against the insides of his rib-cage. “No.” He grumbles, despising the very sound of his own reply. That was a problem Michael hoped he wouldn’t have to manufacture an answer for. However, now that Bonnie mentioned it, it sent his mind reeling. His lips purse firmly together. While he didn’t mind putting himself in precarious positions, he never wanted to do so with Bonnie. Tonight, it would seem that he’d have no choice. They were trapped! Offering Bonnie a shred of hope, Michael adds, “but we’re going to be fine. We have the upper hand. We have Kitt. Remember?”

How could she have ever forgotten about Kitt? There was hope after all!!!

While they move, Michael pulls the com-link close to his mouth. “Kitt? Where are ya, Buddy? We’re gonna need ya.” He beckons, the tension in his chord laying thicker than peanut butter. He continued edging himself in front of Bonnie as the Colombians close in upon them like a pack of ravenous wolves.

Instead of receiving the typical answer, the line of communication fizzles into an unexpected and eerie static. Not even the swishing of Kitt’s continual moving scanners offers a response. 

Bonnie designed all of Kitt’s functions far better than airlines did black-boxes!! Kitt doesn’t just unexpectedly fail!!!

Before the horror could fully register a rough, heavily accented voice, barks for them to cease their retreat with the promise of firing upon them should they fail to comply. 

Their movements towards the bathroom halts in response. Bonnie’s uncertain gaze flashes up to read Michael’s reaction to the threats. 

Michael finds himself weighing the options. While conceding to the enemy was never a reasonable nor wonderful solution, he can’t risk further endangering Bonnie’s life or any of the other innocent motel patrons. They are heavily outnumbered two to eleven, outgunned, and surrounded. From his experience as a cop, Knight quickly assesses that any attempts to put up a fight would be futile and could potentially end in bloodshed. Especially, if he couldn’t rely on immediate assistance from Kitt. After a moment’s deliberation, Michael decides to make a proposition. “I’ll tell ya what. I’ll come with you willingly if ya promise to leave her behind and that you won’t harm her.”

Bemused, the hardened Colombian enforcer’s brow rose an inch. His harsh lips upturn just enough to emit a laugh before giving a gruff reply, “No.” Taking steps towards Michael and Bonnie he adds, “you see, we no negotiate with you. He wants you both, we give him you both.” The stony cold expression never wavered even as he snaps his fingers to command his host of foot-soldiers. Within seconds, Bonnie and Michael are surrounded by seven of the eleven men. That left four guards, two on each side of the door. 

Obviously, making a deal with the goons wasn’t on the tables. Michael’s shoulders slump in defeat. Pulling his nose into a scrunch and delivering a snarl, Knight retorts, “just who is this leader anyways?” He pauses before sarcastically spitting, “the king of the Looney-bin?” 

The head enforcer’s eyes narrow. 

Michael’s wisecrack draws a brief hint of a smile to Bonnie’s face. If she wasn’t so scared, she might have allowed herself to laugh freely. Somehow she believed that any display of amusement would not be well-received. Especially, when she and Michael both have the barrels of high-powered guns nuzzled uncomfortably into their backs. 

“Senior Orlando Calderone and his mistress send their greetings.” The enforcer’s gravelly voice finally conveys.

The two FLAG agents find their countenances exuding maximum confusion. The name revealed certainly didn’t ring a bell. Who was he? Who the hell was his mistress? What did they want? To the best of their combined knowledge, the Foundation never delved into the illicit activities of anyone owning that name. However, the mistress could be any woman at all, even Grace Stevens. In a way, it felt as though, they were still getting nowhere fast. 

Although, the last name Calderone did give off a faint spark of recognition somewhere in the shadowy recesses of Michael Long’s mind. But the memories that belonged to Knight’s previous identity were buried, heavily dusted over and mangled in the cob-webs of time. He says nothing to that effect, worried that any minuscule sliver of remembrance might result in the placement of a bullet in his head or heart. Or worse, in Bonnie’s. 

Bonnie, having found herself with a distinct distaste for the enigmas known as Calderone and his mistress, vehemently retorts, “yeah. Well, you can tell them just where to shove those greetings!”

Unaffected by the woman’s pointed words, the enforcer instructs his soldiers to do a pat-down on both the agents.

“I’ll save you the trouble, my guns over there,” Michael remarks. He just wants to get this over with as fast and painlessly as possible. One of the goons immediately confiscates the weapon. Much to Knight’s annoyance, hands still inspect every inch of him.

Bonnie lets out a low growl at the invasive manhandling as one goon took a little longer on her than he should have. Before she could insist that he take his hands off of her, Michael strenuously interjected on her behalf. “Come on, Man! You and I both know she hasn’t got a weapon under there. Leave her alone.” He shrugs off the hands that were on him and threatens to grab the no-good pervert with the intention of flinging him across the room. It is clear that the Colombian had provoked his ire.

“It’s okay, Michael. He’s done.” Bonnie shoots the Colombian foot-soldier a glance that practically dares him to defy her. There is something familiar about him. She has seen him before and somewhat recently too! But where? Her eyes squint as she attempts to recollect where. At the first convenience, she might ask Michael if he knows. That is, if they survived the miserable ordeal long enough to have an opportunity present itself.


End file.
